


UN.real.ITY - I - Prof. Margaret "Gretchen" Janeway

by Koneia



Series: UN.real.ITY [2]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3654846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koneia/pseuds/Koneia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Voyager’s journey in the Delta Quadrant was only simulation, part of an experiment of section 31 to study long term missions under extreme pressure?<br/>What if it is your child who is trapped?<br/>What would you do?</p><p>Note: This story is part of a series. Please read the corresponding prologue first before starting this part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Malezita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malezita/gifts).



> see "UN.real.ITY - Prologue: Endgame's End"

**276 days before, Badlands, secret station**

Day 1 (2230 hours)

Kathryn.

Who would have thought that I would ever see her again?

A few years ago I buried my firstborn child after _Voyager_ was declared lost and although her death was imprinted in huge letters on her grave stone, the acceptance still hadn’t found its way into my heart even after many months had passed. Then, almost two years after her funeral, I found myself crying in front of Kathryn’s thinking tree upon realizing that I just had thought of her in the past.

Now her fragile figure lies in a stasis chamber in front of me.

Alive.

She looks so pale.

Somehow I’m grateful for the disembodied feeling. It makes it easier to bear all this and gives the whole situation an unreal feeling.

Admiral Nechayev’s hand lays heavy on my shoulder, her voice almost a whisper as if not to disturb this grave like silence on _Voyager_ ’s bridge. “She still has a chance.”

“I know,” I answer, equally quiet. That’s the only reason for my presence: to save the lives of my daughter and her remaining crew. It’s not the time for tears or desperation. I owe it to my daughter and to myself not to abandon her for a second time. “Tell me everything that I need to know and assign me to the group of scientists I’m going to work with.”

The lack of response forces me to seek her face for the first time since arriving on _Voyager_ ’s bridge. There is nothing left of her often bossy nature or her stern command mask. Standing in between the stasis chambers she looks almost as fragile as my daughter. Tired. Lost.

“Admiral?” What the hell had happened here that someone like Nechayev shows signs of distress? The only information I got so far is that Kathryn and her crew are trapped in an artificial computer generated environment, one of those which is often used for deep-space missions where the crew has been put into stasis. Unable to stop the alarm bells ringing, I eye her closely.

“I’m breaking the rules, Professor.” She pauses and tears her glance away from Kathryn’s stasis chamber, her expression severe. “Her identity should remain a secret, even to you. Officially you’re here to function as advisor for Starfleet’s investigation unit with the aim of pulling out some crew members out of a simulation. But unofficially I need you to help me follow a hunch. I’m going to assemble a small independent team. It’s going to be a tough ride. We’ll have to operate secretly in the beginning until we have our first break-through. Then we might be in the position to negotiate with the head of Starfleet. I don’t know how many, but there is definitely more than one party interested in the data from all this and I fear that few have Kathryn’s survival in mind.”

Holy Pi. It’s not that I understand everything she is talking about, but this smells very much of Section 31. “Go on.”

The intensity of her eyes sends shivers down my spine, and before she starts speaking again she seems to consider her words. “Following this course of action will arouse opposition in high places and we both might lose our reputations … or more. Are you up to it, Professor?”

I merely snort in response. “I am the descendant of various Starfleet admirals and in addition I married into the Janeway clan, Admiral. I’m immune to Starfleet brats and their threats. Of course I’m up to it. Which rule are we going to break first?”

Her grin is fierce. “I will give you all the classified files you shouldn’t have access to and introduce you to your unofficial teammate. I know you prefer working alone, but I hope you are still willing to join the team after a first read-through of the material.”

 

=^=

 

It appears that we don’t have much time. Luckily the floors of the station are abandoned at this late hour so that on the way to my quarters we can talk without being overheard by an unwanted listener.

“Your teammate is Captain Joseph Amasov from the USS _Endeavour_.”

“The captain who was amongst the few survivors of Wolf 359?”

“Exactly. The only vessel to survive the Borg attack besides the _Enterprise_. He is a skilled tactician – that’s why he and most of his crew are still alive. You have adjoining quarters and share a bathroom to allow the inconspicuous exchange of information or arrangement of meetings. I’ve explained this situation to the admiralty by telling them you are old acquaintances. Captain Amasov was briefed about your personal key data as well as your professional background as a mathematician.”

The doors to my quarters slide open and reveal a small, sparsely furnished room. “Well, Professor, I have to attend a meeting and will join you later. You have to introduce yourself to the captain.”

“I understand.”

Feeling a bit lost when the doors shut behind my back, I examine the quarters which will be my home for an indefinite length of time. A bed. A desk. Three chairs. A coffee table. A wardrobe. A couch. That’s it. My heart sinks at the dreary scenery and the prospect of meeting Captain Amasov.

Dropping the travel bag with my few belongings on to the floor, I walk into the bathroom and wash my hands, my worn out face greeting me in the mirror.

Who am I going to expect as a team comrade? A man who survived Wolf 359? Considering Starfleet’s usual superficial counseling treatment of victims, he still will be traumatized like hell. I doubt Starfleet’s counseling techniques have improved since Edward’s death and it is likely that Captain Amasov had been left alone like Kathryn had been. The question is whether I will be able to team up with him at all. Team play is not really my strength, especially when it comes to Starfleet.

Straightening my shoulders, I dry my hands and ring the chime on his bathroom door with a weird feeling in my gut.

“Come in.” The doors slide open and as I step into Amasov’s quarters, the sight of two elderly men brings me to the dilemma of which one to address.

“Gretchen! You’ve arrived. Good to see you.” A tall, grey haired man about my age rises and I just manage to say “Joseph” before being hauled into a tight embrace. Whether it is my exhaustion after the long journey or the need for human contact after these soul-tearing events, I find myself to my own surprise immediately comfortable in his arms. I relax; it seems easier to pretend to be well-acquainted friends than I imagined.

He softly pulls me away and I meet concerned green-brown eyes. “How are you?”

“I’m … exhausted,” I say hesitantly with a lump in my throat, staying to the truth as close as possible without revealing too much. My visit to Kathryn’s stasis chamber has to remain a secret.

“I see,” he answers, and the short glow in his eyes surprises me again; he really seems to understand the meaning behind my hesitation. “Do you want something to drink?”

Nodding, I follow his lead and sit down on a comfortable chair, and while he pours a drink into a glass, he shoots the other man in the room a short glance.

“I beg your pardon, Admiral. May I introduce Professor Margaret Janeway. Admiral Hayes.”

We eye each other suspiciously; the immediate dislike is without doubt on both sides.

“Professor.”

“Admiral.”

Unpleasant silence descends upon us. I’m not willing to start any conversation and neither is one of the men. Admiral Hayes finally stands up and confirms my first negative impression of him. “Well, I think you both have a lot to talk about because you surely haven’t seen each other in a long time which is …?”

Captain Amasov and I almost simultaneously rise from our seats.

“I think since Edward’s funeral,” I offer and add, “My husband.” There is a pretty high chance that Captain Amasov attended the funeral as Edward and he must have known each other.

“Yes. I think it was Edward’s funeral,” Amasov replies unmoved.

So the game of trust and mistrust already starts. It is obvious that Admiral Hayes is not convinced by this answer. With a short nod he turns and leaves the quarters, leaving us behind in a strange silence. Amasov is the first to speak.

“I’m sorry. I was not aware that you’d be here so soon, or I would have-“

I interrupt him. “It’s alright. We’ve managed the situation quite well, I think.”

“Yes, we have. Serendipitously, I was at Edward’s funeral. Hayes will surely check that piece of information. I guess we need to exchange more personal details and create a shared history.” He reaches out his hand and squeezes mine in a comfortable handshake. “Anyway, nice to meet you, Professor. And please call me Joseph.”

“Margaret. Gretchen. Friends call me Gretchen. Nice to meet you, too.”

We both seat ourselves again and he eyes me curiously. “So apparently Admiral Nechayev was successful in bringing you on board.”

“I have a daughter lying on _Voyager_ ’s bridge in a stasis chamber. I think that is a quite convincing reason.” He surely didn’t intend to offend me, but my voice is dry. “And you?”

“One of my best friends and former students lies on the _Val Jean_ ’s bridge in a stasis chamber. I thought that to be a quite convincing reason, too.”

“Who?”

“Chakotay.”

Having screened the list of _Voyager’s_ crew members this makes no sense. “I thought Chakotay was Kathryn’s first officer? How come he is on another ship?”

His features darken. “One of those things we shouldn’t have access to. At least yet. Although I don’t understand why they withhold information like this from the investigation team at all. I’m half a day ahead of you digging through the material. The situation is … bad, to say the least.”

“Then I better start catching up.”

“You truly are Kathryn’s mother,” he murmurs quietly and as I shoot him an astonished look he continues with more strength in his voice. “Yes I’ve met her several times. A clever and courageous one, your daughter. Anyway, you should start with this report, I think,” he says, handing me a PADD.

I eye him closely; unsure if this is kind of a test. The activated PADD reveals a classified audiolog of the USS _Enterprise_ from three months before.

 

_“Cousteau to Enterprise. Do you read us?”_

_“Loud and clear, Number One.”_

_“We’re still having problems with the interference, Captain. Data is trying to compensate to enable visual contact.”_

_“What’s your status?”_

_“Ready and waiting for orders to enter the hangar.”_

_“Proceed.”_

_“Aye Sir. Breaching the force field in five, four, three, two, one… W… e… ngar……… scan… god…”_ [communication crackles]

_“Cousteau, please respond. We’ve lost audio.”_

[communication crackles] _“Amplifying signals. Do you read us?”_

_“Positive, Number One. Report.”_

_“The scanners have picked up fifty four vessels, sir.”_

[short silence]

_“Confirm, Commander, you’ve got **fifty four** vessels within sensor range?”_

_“Acknowledged, Captain. It’s unbelievable, sir, but the hangar is completely filled with ships. Cardassian, Klingon, Federation ... They all appear undamaged. We’re screening through the incoming data.”_

_“Life signs?”_

_“Not yet. But the interference might be too high … for heaven’s sake! Kathryn …”_ [very long pause]

_“Will, respond!”_

[short silence]

_“Voyager. It appears we’ve found Voyager … and … there are life signs …”_

_“Janeway’s ship.”_

_“Yes.”_

[pause]

_“I’m not sure if I want her to be alive or not, Will.”_

[pause]

_“This hangar served as a field of experimentation for Section 31, Jean-Luc ... It might be better to be dead than alive.”_

 

Closing my eyes, I put the PADD slowly on my lab. Section 31. Bloody Pi - I knew it!

A field experimentation for Section 31. And my daughter is trapped in the midst of this horror.

Feeling Amasov’s eyes on me, I meet his glance which is full of compassion. Words fail me. My voice is hoarse when I finally find the strength to speak again. “The next PADD please, Joseph.”

 

 

 

I learn of hell through the next reports.

Fifty four ships from all over the quadrant were kidnapped over the last years, transferred secretly with a technology unknown to Starfleet to a hidden hangar in the Badlands, their respective crews put into stasis and their minds introduced into a sophisticated artificial computer generated environment of unknown alien origin. About half of the people didn’t survive this transfer. For each crew an independent reality was generated and the survivors of each vessel believed that they were the only one ship stranded in the Delta Quadrant, 75,000 light years away from our current position. The aim of the experiments was to study command decisions, crew morale and behavior under permanent pressure, traumatic and isolated conditions. It was never intended that any of the crews survive the process.

The consequence - fifty one crews are dead. Unbelievably, three are still alive. And more unbelievable – they share a united reality. Kathryn’s ship. The other two ships, the _Val Jean_ and the _Equinox_ , are destroyed in their reality. Also the _Equinox_ ’s captain has died. Kathryn and Chakotay, with a strength almost larger than life, lead the remaining survivors towards the Alpha Quadrant.

Putting down the last report on my knees I meet Amazov’s empathic look. My vision is blurry and I realize that I must have been crying. Almost automatically rising from my chair, I head towards the bathroom; the cold water on my face mingling with my tears.

Amasov allows me the room and the time to calm down. No questions. No one appearing in the bathroom’s entrance and pretending to be concerned. I appreciate that. He must have had his share of misplaced care.

After a while I find my strength again and walk back into his quarters where he obviously has been waiting for me to return. For a long time we look at each other, his pain lies open for me to see. Team comrade. So be it then.

Suddenly he straightens his shoulders as if he has come to a decision and starts fumbling nervously with his cuff. “Margaret, I have a proposition.”

Somehow, he reminds me a little of Edward seconds before his proposal. The memory stirs some amusing reminiscences, and probably for the first time in weeks a small laugh escapes me.

“What?” Amasov looks puzzled at my reaction.

Tiredly but with a smile on my lips, I lean with my side on the wall. “Out with your proposition, Captain. Relax. After all it’s not a marriage proposal. And I promise not to bite.”

That seems to unsettle him even more. Suspiciously I narrow my eyes. “You don’t intend for us to pretend to be a couple, do you?”

“Nooooo,” he bursts out and lifts his hands in defense. “No. My thoughts went in another direction.” Sighing he leans beside me against the wall and turns his head in my direction. “Admiral Nechayev told you that it could get dangerous?”

“She told me that there is probably more than one party interested in the data from this experiment. After having read the reports, I guess I know why. This-” I gesture to the pile of PADDs. “-is linked to virtually everything concerning deep space missions and command structures in general.”

He nods. “Whoever is in the possession of this data has a clear advantage over others. The information would help to improve battle tactics, fleet arrangements, teaching, counseling, interspecies and intraspecies interaction…” His voice trails off and he takes a deep breath before he continues. “And it contains secret information. The Federation is not the only party who has lost vessels to this experiment. The fewest ships are civilian.”

“Cardassians. Romulans. Ferengi,” I whisper.

“Amongst others, yes.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Difficult to say. Literally anyone could know about it. Or nobody.” He pauses and rubs his chin. “What we do know is the following: Eventually information on this project seeped through Section 31’s security net and reached parts of Starfleet, who decidedly disagrees with these methods. Who has warned Section 31 is unknown, but fact is that the Section 31 members posted on this station got wind of the matter and scattered to the four winds, carrying most of their know-how and data with them.”

“Seems like we are lucky that they didn’t have the chance to blow up any evidence or erase the database. It also explains the amount of security on and surrounding the station.”

The following silence is full of meaning. ‘Dangerous’ might in fact be the understatement of the century. Amasov examines me closely. Holding his view I ask, “Now what do you propose?”

Again he hesitates. “You and I, we both are in the same position. There is someone out there we deeply care for and who needs our help.”

Nodding, I run my fingers through my hair. You and I. So he seems to mistrust her too. “That doesn’t include Nechayev.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Go on.”

“Neither of us know whom we can trust.”

“True.”

“Things might get emotionally very disturbing.”

“Yes.” Heavens. Does this man always stretch unsettling requests like chewing gum? “Captain, could you please come straight to the point?”

Pushing himself from the wall, he starts pacing. Then stops. Faces me. “I want us to be confidantes, Margaret. No secrets. No hiding. If we want to get through this game of mistrust and politics alive, and to rescue Kathryn and Chakotay, we both have to trust each other. Profoundly.” He hesitates, insecurity showing through his voice. “And we have to care for each other. It will probably be a most difficult time.”

Offering me his full trust and still he looks bit like a dog which has done something naughty. This man is something.

The chime sounds and we both startle at the interruption. Admiral Nechayev doesn’t bother to greet us as she enters the room. By the look of it she is exhausted, haunted, and coming to a halt in front of me she shoots me a questioning glance.

“I’m in,” I reply and focus then on Amasov, repeating the same words to answer a different question. “I’m in.”

Both smile and I seat myself wearily. The others follow my example.

“How do we get them out, Admiral?”

“The problem, Professor, is that Section 31 didn’t fully understand this technology. Obviously there was no intention on their side to ever detach them. Anyway, we won’t be able to extract the few survivors alive out of the system unless we understand it. Nevertheless, the current Starfleet strategy is to follow the little instructions Section 31 has left. But as I’ve said, even they didn’t understand the technology. Therefore in my opinion we have to go other ways.”

Staring at her I rub my temples. Nice way to describe that no one has a clue how to get them out alive. “You were talking about a hunch of yours.”

Nechayev is silent for a moment. Apparently with much effort she lifts herself out of the chair and starts pacing. “Three crews united on one vessel in one virtual reality. Two of three ships destroyed. One of three captains dead. It doesn’t make much sense to me, but I can’t get rid of this thought. Loads and loads of data, almost infinite possibilities, but somehow I have a hunch that here lies the key. Why didn’t Ransom merge into Janeway’s and Chakotay’s reality? How was it possible that part of his crew did?”

She stops her pacing and faces us. “I met Ransom on several occasions. The only thing I can say is that it wouldn’t fit if he had merged with them. It somehow feels wrong, which means that subconsciously I already see a pattern. It’s like picking up a scent without knowing what kind of smell I am following.” Slumping into her chair again, she grabs for the water pot and fills a glass. “I hate this insecurity, the uncertainty of where to start tackling the problem and having to rely solely on a hunch. But I don’t think we have much of a choice here.”

Amasov and I remain silent.

Letting out a slow breath she continues. “What’s the secret why fifty-one crews are dead and three are still alive? In my opinion the secret lies in the personality of these two surviving captains, or three, if we partly consider Captain Ransom. That’s why you both are here. You are both familiar with either Kathryn Janeway or Chakotay. I’m familiar with Ransom. We all are experts in seeing patterns where others fail. So… now you both know the truth. I’m breaking several Starfleet regulations and risking my career, because of a bloody hunch. Are you still with me?”

I lean back in my chair. A hunch. Well, some history changing decisions were based on less than that.

Casting a side glance to Joseph, it’s apparent that he isn’t intimidated at all. Hell, he has survived Wolf 359. “When do we start?”

My question earns me a wide grin on his face. “Tomorrow 0730. Breakfast in my quarters. I’ll replicate the croissants, if you bring the orange juice.”

Turning our heads, we look to Nechayev expectantly. I’m not sure what I read in her face at this moment, but clearly I’ve never seen her as vulnerable as this – if one can talk of vulnerable in the context of Admiral Nechayev at all. It takes a bit before she answers.

“Well, then it seems that I’m in charge of the coffee.”


	2. The Game Begins

**The next morning**

Day 2 (0655 hours)

 

Someone sings in the shower Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy‘. Passionate. Loud.

And completely off-key.

Burying my head into the pillow and pulling the cover over my ears doesn’t help. So much for shared bath rooms. Funny what one finds out about the other when noises can easily drift from one room to the next. Survived the Borg? Hell yes. Simply because he snored them away.

Well, admittedly he warned me of that possibility yesterday evening when we shared more details of our lives. Amazing how fast the level of intimacy increases when two people decide to have no secrets.

Turning onto my back with a sigh, I stare tiredly to the ceiling. Holy Pi. This day is going to be hellish and somehow I can vividly imagine how a smashed potato must feel. Others would say it is just the age, but I disagree. It’s age, too much work and sleep deprivation. Age alone doesn’t get me into this hazardous bad mood. What for Kathryn is lack of coffee, is for me lack of sleep - it awakes a sleeping beast with sharp claws; to keep the beast in check and not to unleash it on innocent bystanders, requires a lot of effort.

Kathryn’s name catapults my tired spirits instantly back to the world of the living. Kathryn. Suffering in a simulated reality and I complain about my lack of sleep. What a mother am I! Time to heave my old bones out of the bed and tinker on some equations for this bloody simulation.

The floor under my feet is as cold as the sterile interior of my quarters and while fumbling in my travel bag for fresh clothes and waiting for my teammate to leave the bath room, the disturbing thought which kept me awake during the rare pauses of Amasov’s snoring surges again. Yesterday’s reports indicated that Kathryn is not only the subject of experiments but is obviously also permanently monitored. This in itself is disturbing enough. But how far does this monitoring reach? What about her thoughts, her feelings - are they also recorded and processed by the simulation? It is unimaginable how such a violation of privacy would affect a so very private person like Kathryn when she finds out.

If she ever finds out.

If.

A tiny word that pierces my soul like a dagger and I stumble into the now empty bathroom suppressing a violent sob. Only when the shower drops first start splattering on my body, do I allow myself the luxury of letting the burning tears quietly surge and wash them away with the hot water. All the pressure of the last few days swells up, almost endangering my hard-won emotional control. My daughter is alive.

Kathryn. Is. Alive.

My surroundings suddenly start spinning and I desperately hang on to the shower mounting to prevent my knees from buckling under me. I run my trembling fingers through my wet hair, the sensation causing a welcome grounding in reality.

Focus. Breathe.

Focus on facts, focus on the surroundings.

Pi. 3.141592653589793238462643383279502884197169399375105820974944…

Pi’s calming influence soon unfolds its usual effects and my surroundings become clearer again. The bathroom. Amasov. He didn’t use all the warm water and he seems to be a tidy person. Breathe. Focus.

The breakfast. New information. Information to get Kathryn out of this horror.

When breathing thankfully gets easier and reality somehow roots itself within me again, I grab the towel and its scratching feeling on my skin brings my circular flow again into order.

Now is not the time for collapsing. No, it’s time to act; self-pity is something for later, for quieter hours.

Focus, Margaret, focus.

Replicate the orange juice, read more reports and get more information. Find out more about Amasov and about Nechayev’s reason why she risks her whole career for this. There is more between the lines, this is certain. And get some sleep today before someone is murdered because of my bad mood.

In my current state of distress even the most minuscule plan sounds like a good plan.

 

=^=

**A few minutes later**

Day 2 (0730 hours)

 

“Morning Gretchen. Hope you slept well.” Amasov’s almost cheery smile causes the sleep deprived beast within me to roar despite all my efforts to convince it that he should be considered as an ‘innocent bystander’; after all it’s a clever beast and lying to it has rarely helped in the past.

Well, what to answer on this? Avoiding his look and resisting the urge to simply slam the orange juice on the breakfast table, I desperately search for something to brighten up my day - croissants and Nechayev’s deliciously smelling coffee - and focusing on the necessary variables of the human’s interaction equation, I even manage a not too unfriendly, “Morning.”

Evidently I wasn’t very successful as Nechayev eyes me closely and arches an eyebrow. “Are you alright, Professor?”

“Never been better.” Sarcasm drips out of every word of mine. Fine Margaret, so much for holding back your bad mood. Changing the topic, I point to the PADDs lying on the table beside Nechayev’s plate. “May I?”

She doesn’t break our eye contact, nor does she move a nanometre to hand me one of the PADDs. Her voice is icy. “We are going to navigate in dangerous waters, Professor. For that we must trust each other. What is the matter?”

Trust each other? But it is ok when you hold something back from us? Narrowing my eyes, I slump into the chair and hold her gaze. Indeed, we need to trust each other or our secret mission is lost before it begins. Not that I trust Starfleet in any case - for this I know too much about them. But I must trust two strangers for Kathryn’s sake. “Very well, Admiral. I didn’t sleep much tonight. Actually almost not at all.”

“Why?”

For the first time I glance at Amasov, who cringes slightly at my gaze and asks guiltily with a faint blush. “I snored?”

“It was more like the rattling noise of a badly maintained warp core - in a very annoying low frequency range,” the beast answers. Amasov has the grace to at least look a bit sheepish.

“Nothing a dampening field wouldn’t prevent,” replies Nechayev with a dry undertone in her voice. “Anything else what kept you awake, Professor?”

Leaning back in my chair, I meet again her eyes. Unsurprisingly she has this unsettling ability to judge persons and situations within the blink of an eye like all Starfleet officers who had climbed the ladder as high as she had done. But Starfleet brats are luckily not the only people able to read others. Reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring myself a cup while carefully considering my answer, I decide on a counter-question. “How transparent is Kathryn’s life?”

“Transparent.”

“To what extent?”

Nechayev frowns and picks off a part from her croissant absentmindedly. “We have access to audio and visual material. So we are able to see everything what happens on and with _Voyager_ from the perspective of each crew member. This includes also personal logs.”

It’s not what she says, but more what she doesn’t say and the reappearing nagging in my gut that confirms me that she is holding something back. It appears that Amasov and I are on the same page, as he takes the same line. “But there is no access to their emotions or their thoughts?”

“No.”

There it is again – this nagging feeling. Nechayev’s face is stern, her usual admiral’s mask fixed in place, but nevertheless upon closer examination, I also see vulnerability there. What the hell is going on here?

Time to poke the wasp nest with a stick and see what happens. “Well, Admiral. As I’ve been told before, we are going to navigate in dangerous waters where we have to trust each other. Therefore out with it.”

Nechayev, obviously not used being addressed like this, shoots me a surprised look and straightens in her chair, while Amasov almost chokes on his orange juice beside me. Starfleet or not – I don’t give this bloody rank-game a damn. Kathryn’s life is in danger.

“Professor Janeway definitely has a point, Admiral.” Although Amasov keeps a straight face and his voice is neutral, the sparkling in his eyes gives him away. Resisting grinning from ear to ear, I surprise myself how fast the sleep-deprived beast within me is willing to forgive him.

Laying her croissant back on her plate and reclining in her chair, Nechayev crosses her legs and studies us seriously, her look evaporating the rest bit of cheery mood in the room and replacing it with a grave silence. I find myself holding my breath.

“You are right. We need to trust each other,” she finally answers and rubbing her temple, the expression of vulnerability flickers again over her face for a fraction of a second. “It’s true – we can’t access their thoughts or feelings. But in my opinion, however, the simulation does. At least in case of each vessel’s captain.”

“Has this something to do with your hunch that the personalities of Kathryn and Chakotay are the reason why these crews survived?” Amasov dunks his croissant into the coffee and seems to indulge in the taste of the resulting soppy amorphous mass. I can’t help inwardly cringing at the mere thought of contaminating coffee in such a way.

“Yes.” Nechayev sounds tired. “I think the simulation responds mainly to the captain’s personality and adjusts the scenarios accordingly.”

I frown. “But in case of _Voyager_ there are two captains in one simulation. If you are right in your assumption, the program has to cope and adjust with two personalities at once.”

“At least that might be one explanation why they are still alive. However, it doesn’t answer the question why Janeway’s and Chakotay’s simulations and later on to a minor degree also Ransom’s simulation were the only simulations to fuse at all.”

“Interesting.” Reaching for the orange juice, Amasov takes a sip before he continues. “Are there any other abnormalities in Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s shared simulation?”

“Several,” Nechayev replies after a short pause. “But in my opinion two things are most striking. First it appears that there are additional crew members on _Voyager_ which must have been created solely by the simulation. In the beginning it includes an EMH and the two Delta Quadrant natives Kes and Neelix. Some years into their journey apparently Kes vanishes and is replaced almost simultaneously by a Borg drone called Seven of Nine. Several Borg children join the simulation later on, but only one – Icheb – remains. Neelix leaves _Voyager_ at some point and remains as a diplomat in the Delta Quadrant. In no other simulation were such additional crew members established. I’m not talking of children born by the crew; that seems to happen quite often. But in no simulation were adult characters created out of the blue and integrated as part of the crew.”

Amasov has blanched slightly at the mention of the Borg and I shoot him a worried glance, which he responds to with a weak smile, apparently aware that I had perceived his distress. Taking a deep breath I concentrate again on the conversation with Nechayev to allow him to recover. “Are these creations full-value crew members or is there any differentiation?”

“As far as I’ve seen, Professor, they are full-value crew members with vital functions on _Voyager_.”

“Strange. Go on. What is the second striking issue?”

“The time loops. All simulations are desynchronized from our time, meaning that the time runs much faster than outside of it. What is unique to the _Voyager_ simulation are reappearing time loops - some are small and comprise several hours, others span over years or decades.”

“Decades?” The awkward clink of my coffee cup on the saucer somehow reflects my surprise.

“Yes. At the moment I can only give a rough estimation about the overall time which has elapsed in the simulation, but it must be in the order of 60 to 70 years.”

Sixty to seventy years of horror. Heavens! Meeting Amasov’s concerned look, I swallow hard and put my hands into my lap to prevent them from trembling too much. With a short nod he indicates that he wants to take over although he is still pale. I send him a thankful smile.

“Are they aware of their time looping?”

“Well, Captain, I haven’t had much opportunity to dig as deep as that into the data, but it appears that in most cases they aren’t aware when a time loop has happened. It’s like the proverbial reset button, as most time loops usually are.”

“What’s the current year within the simulation?”

“2387.”

“Holy Pi! Then Kathryn would be in her fifties!” I take a deep breath. “Is she… has she... I mean. Does she have a partner in life, does she have children?”

Shades of something unidentifiable flicker across Nechayev’s features. “I’m sorry, Professor, but she has neither of it. This holds also true for Chakotay, Captain, although it seems he was married to the Borg-drone Seven of Nine, but she died within the simulation several years ago.”

The unfurling silence between the three of us is grave. There is no need to explain this further. True to the burden of command, both Kathryn and Chakotay pay a high price to get their crew home. Grief reaches its cold hands into my guts.

“Well, in any case you’ll find more details on these issues within these PADDs. Needless to say you know of nothing.” Nodding I close my eyes as the sadness almost overcomes me. The rustling beside me indicates that Nechayev is raising from her chair. “I have to leave you now. Meet you at 1000 in the control room with the rest of the official investigation unit for your first briefing.”

Neither Amasov nor I speak, the clicking of Nechayev’s heels the only sound in the room. As the doors hiss open, she shortly stops walking. “By the way, Captain, Professor, you both make up a great team.”

A pensive silence stretches between us, each respecting the others pain of hearing these new information. Feeling Amazov’s view on me I eventually open my eyes again and our gaze locks. No, although he hides it well, he definitely hasn’t recovered from the Borg reference yet. Having survived a massacre with the Borg and now finding out that the simulations most probably include such experiences for the victims too… “Do you want to talk about - it?”

He seems to immediately understand what I’m referring to. “Thank you Margaret, but not now. Maybe later.”

“Gretchen.”

“Gretchen.” His smile is forced. Visibly battling with something he rolls the empty glass in his fingers. Again we remain silent. Unwilling to push him, I reach for my cup of coffee and take a sip.

Heaving a sigh, he puts his glass on the table and seeks my view. “You know, Gretchen, another reason why you might need a dampening field is that I have the habit of screaming in my dreams now and then.”

Unsurprising news. “Do you snore every night like this?”

“I guess not, or my wife would have left me certainly earlier,” he replies with a bitter laugh.

“Then forget about the dampening fields and tell me if you need someone to tear you out of your nightmares.”

Handing me Nechayev’s PADDs, he gives me a long and searching look. “Gretchen, it won’t be a nice sight and I might get … rough before I wake up.”

“If you trust me in this respect, Joseph, I’m willing to kick your butt any time you need it.”

The return of the sparkle in his eyes warms my heart, but his voice remains serious. “Crazy as it sounds after knowing each other only for this short time, but I trust you Margaret Janeway.”

In its earnest simplicity his statement almost knocks me out of my chair, coating my cheeks with a burning sensation. How did he manage to sneak past my anti-team play attitude so fast? “Crazy as it sounds, Joseph Amasov, I have to respond: The feeling is mutual.”

Before engrossing myself into the pile of PADDs I catch a genuine smile on his face.

 

=^=

**A few hours later**

Day 2 (1820 hours)

 

Slamming a door would be satisfying right now, but I’m denied even this little luxury. Automatic sliding doors! Really, I could throttle someone. On entering my quarters my eyes screen in vain for something to throw at a bulkhead. Feeling Amasov’s hand on my shoulder, I swirl around to shrug it off, causing him to lift his hands in a placating gesture.

“Margaret, please calm down. It was just the first meeting with the investigation unit – things will settle within time, I’m sure.”

“I tried to be calm the whole day, Joseph.”

“You call that calm? I wouldn’t consider almost chewing Admiral Hayes’s head off as calm.”

“Victim number 9423? Her name is Kathryn Elisabeth Janeway, for heaven’s sake! And Chakotay is not victim number 9424. We are talking about people, Joseph. People with a past, with a family. People suffering ineffable horrors in this simulation and they dare to talk of them as numbers! What’s the point anyway in keeping the ship’s and the crew’s identities a secret?”

My quarters are hot and I tiredly wipe the sweat from my forehead. The sticky air of the room adds to my urgent need for a shower. Really fine.

“I can only guess – it could have something to do with keeping the investigation team as objective as possible. In any case, you should have more control over yourself, Margaret, or you will unintentionally give something away.”

Control? Putting my hands on my hips, I shoot him my best skunk eye, fully aware of its usual titan-melting impact. To give him credit, he only flinches a little. “You mean like blurting out that I’m not only the mother of _Voyager’s_ captain but that I’m going to work on a separate secret investigation which will undermine all Starfleet authority? Or that I’m aware that there is more to this whole incident than they want us to know? Tell me, Joseph. Did I give something like that away?”

Mirroring my posture, his eyes glitter most probably as dangerously as mine. “No you didn’t give anything away, but your affection for Kathryn makes you vulnerable and emotional. You have to be very careful, Margaret. Your presence alone is raising enough suspicions. I don’t think the admiralty believes in coincidence.”

Darn. Why does he have to be right? Lifting my hands in defeat, I sigh. “Alright. I confess I am emotional. But I have every reason to be. How did they refer to it again?”

“You mean the ‘Caretaker Scenario’?”

“Caretaker. Scenario.” The anger surges again in full force and each word follows one of my shoes into the corner with a satisfactory thud. “That’s really a fine Starfleet way to circumscribe a subroutine with the sole aim of finally embedding all victims into the simulation. A nice way to furthermore circumscribe Section 31’s dilettantism and inability to understand how this alien technology works - with the consequence that about thirty percent of _Voyager’s_ crew died in this process. You read Nechayev’s classified reports – other vessels were not as lucky as _Voyager_. The average loss was in the range of fifty percent. Fifty percent!”

Tossing my jacket at a full tilt on my bed, I grit my teeth. “And don’t you dare to tell me now that to pull them out of the system via the reversal procedure and to risk the lives of at least thirty percent of _Voyager’s_ crew is the universe’s brightest idea!”

This time it’s him who sighs in defeat. “The idea is certainly nonsense. Admiral Nechayev is right – we have to travel other roads to reach our goal. But nevertheless, in the beginning we have to move mostly within the borders we are given until our first break-through.”

“Borders we are given?” I regret that socks thrown at a wall lack any dramatic effects and only pathetically add to the miserable pile of my shoes in the corner. “I’ll tell you something about following borders which are given. It cost my husband’s life, the life of my daughter’s fiancé and almost the life of my daughter. And if the rest of the family and in particular Phoebe had followed Starfleet’s rules at this time, I would have lost Kathryn eventually too in her depression. And NOW-“ I start kicking my trousers off my feet, “Kathryn lies in a stasis chamber trapped in an artificial simulation because she trusted those borders again.”

“Gretchen…”

“Tell you what? I don’t give a damn about those rules. I’m accustomed to using my own brain and not stupidly following orders.”

“Gretchen!”

Turning my back on him, I slam my fist on the button to open the bathroom’s door, ignoring the burning sensation in my hand. A hot shower to sweep all this Starfleet crap out of my system. Yes. That will do it.

“Margaret Janeway!” His yell stops me mid track.

What follows now? A lesson about the sense of Starfleet rules? Better we clarify some points of view in the beginning of this working relationship. Pugnaciously whirling around I search his eyes, ready to throw years of bottled up frustration with Starfleet to this discussion. “What?”

Instead of being equally combative, Amasov appears only to be amused and somehow … bewildered, unsettled? Barely looking at me, he points with his head towards the bathroom. “Care to tell me what you are doing?”

“Me? Why? I just intend to take-” Reality creeps in. A fast inventory of my remaining clothing reveals that I’m the proud wearer of solely my underwear plus luckily still a shirt which I was about to get rid off – well, at the moment when he started yelling. With a voice almost an octave higher I somehow struggle through the last words of the sentence, ”a shower.”

My cheeks start burning for the second time on this day. Pressing his lips together to obviously stifle laughter, Amasov lifts his eyes from the floor and looks at me, a wide grin finally spreading across his face. “Maybe you want to have your shower first before we discuss today’s events in more depth?”

Oh dear. “Ummm, yes. Dinner? Lasagne? My quarters?” At least to my ears my voice still squeaks.

“Sounds great. Give me a call when you are ready.” Nodding with a gentle smile he passes me and the hissing of the door indicates that he has arrived in his own quarters.

Leaning with a strange mixture of fury, amusement and embarrassment on my bathroom’s entrance and reviewing the last few minutes, some unasked questions pop up and rear their ugly heads in my direction. If I’d thought that my life had become considerably more complicated when finding out Kathryn was alive and joining the investigation unit … well, now the degree of complication certainly has doubled.

How long has it been since I felt so comfortable in the presence of a man to undress in front of him without giving it a second thought? And how long has it been since I saw that look in a man’s eyes directed at me?

Why does it feel like I am cheating on Edward although nothing has happened?

Heavens, and what am I supposed to do about this nothing?


	3. Cloak and Dagger

**31 days later**

Day 33 (1240 hours)

 

For the umpteenth time, I type in the subroutine’s last command codes and erase them, playing for time so I appear occupied to the others. I peek across the room. A usual investigation unit day - everyone is busy calculating, programming, assessing. Usual in every respect. Although they try to be extremely discrete, the Andorian scientist and the Bajoran Lieutenant observe us again. Amasov is right, there is something going on and we have to be very careful.

“Gretchen? How about lunch?” Speak of the devil. With a PADD in his hand, Amasov strolls nonchalantly in my direction and comes to stand beside me with a relaxed expression.

Oh, he’s good, really good. I’m sure no one realizes that with this sentence, he has just indicated to me that he has successfully broken several Starfleet regulations at once. Impressive.

“Wait a minute, I’m not finished yet,” I respond in the mutually agreed upon answer to indicate that I’m ready.

His arm brushes mine when he bends over my console to look at the displayed data. “Need a helping hand? I’m hungry.”

“Thank you, that would be nice, Joseph.” I have to suppress an eye roll at this precast answer. Me needing his help in programming subroutines… well, we haven’t had a better idea for this role play.

“Hmmm, let me see…” His fingers fly over the keyboard, inputting Hayes’ snitched command codes in front of my eyes. To bar any sight of it, I get closer to Amasov, our bodies meeting. He doesn’t even flinch at the contact. Surely the gossip factory will work overtime again, but I don’t care.

Sliding a data chip into the console with the hand which is covered by his body, I reply, “Looks good,” and activate the transfer. It costs me much effort to appear as relaxed as usual, while some selected data of the small data fragment we were given to work on are copied to the chip. Even Amasov’s body stiffens slightly.

“Well, Gretchen, I think we are ready to go for lunch,” he says, casting me a short side-glance with a smile.

Taking the chip again, I hide it in my sleeve and reply to his smile mischievously. “Last time, I cooked. It’s your turn, Captain.”

“My turn?” We walk towards the operation room’s exit. “I think there must be a miscalculation, Professor.”

I set up for a cheeky answer, but Nechayev’s voice interrupts me. “Professor? May I have a word with you?”

Darn. Has she noticed anything? Her interference is unusual - she has avoided almost any contact with us lately.

I only nod, my smile from before now feels more like a cramp. “Of course, Admiral. Joseph?”

He, too, nods. “Go ahead, Gretchen. I’ll prepare lunch in the meantime.”

My heart almost sinks into my boots on the way to her office, which – as it turns out - is as sparsely decorated as all the rooms on this station. Without a further word, she reaches to the pile of PADDs on the desk and hands me one.

On seeing its contents, a loud curse escapes me. The only positive aspect is that it has nothing to do with Joseph’s and my data snatching.

“Exactly my opinion,” Nechayev replies.

“There is Borg technology involved in the simulation? Borg? Why? How?”

“We are only beginning to understand the simulation’s underlying technology, especially as it seems to be a wild mix of several advanced alien technologies. But it appears that the basis for the simulation relies on Borg-algorithms.” She takes a deep breath. “However, this has to remain a secret between the two of us, Professor.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I don’t hide my annoyance. Trusting each other, huh? “Admiral, I don’t intend to keep secrets from Captain Amasov.”

Giving me a long look, she turns around the monitor on her desk and types a few commands into the keyboard. A younger version of Amasov appears on the screen, his face covered with dirt and blood, the uniform torn, his surroundings – obviously the bridge of his vessel – badly damaged.

“I think, Professor, it is time that you know more about Captain Amasov. This log was recorded at the end of the battle of Wolf 359 when, from the forty Federation vessels, only the _Endeavor_ remained. Amasov risked a very dangerous and desperate maneuver which I think he didn’t believe at this point would work.”

My guts clench. So he had thought he would die then.

Nechayev starts the recording. The picture on the screen shakes and it is evident that the ship had been badly damaged. Amasov almost loses his balance despite gripping tightly to a console. _"In all my years-,”_ he coughs, his voice is haunted as if he wants to squeeze as much as information into the log as possible, ” _I could never imagine terror such as this. Cold. Calculating... Murderous. It is just a matter of pure luck that any of us are alive right now.”_ He coughs again. _“The Borg are as close to pure evil as any race we've ever encountered."_

 _“Captain?”_ Amasov turns his head in direction of the unknown speaker. _“We are ready to give it a try.”_

 _“Understood.”_ With a fierce expression his hand moves towards the console, apparently to stop the recording.

“Computer, halt record.” The picture freezes again. Nechayev’s expression is unreadable. “It’s then that they try an untested maneuver which Amasov’s former student and afterwards best friend had developed a few years before.”

“Chakotay,” I whisper and she responds with a nod.

“They called it ‘dead opposum’. On the next impact they simulated a complete system failure with life-support shutdown on all decks, except for a small room where the remaining crew was assembled together with their life-signs masked through high radiation via a faked manifold-leck. Fortunately the Borg lost interest in attacking the _Endeavour’s_ simulated wreck and left Wolf 359 before the radiation dosage became lethal to them.”

“Heavens.”

“Many hours later when the USS _Enterprise_ arrived, nothing more but a debris field was left. No life signs - Captain Amasov and his remaining crew had picked up all remaining survivors from wrecks or escape pods and had stumbled more or less to the next Starfleet post. Neither Amasov nor anyone of his crew talks about these few hours and what they saw on their rescue mission … Starfleet assumes that a lot more happened than what is listed in the records.”

More than what is listed in the records. “Oh my goodness.”

“Like other survivors of the _Endeavor’s_ crew, Amasov was hospitalized for several weeks, then spent months in counseling. And like with the others, his losses didn’t stop with Wolf 359.” She eyes me with a scrutinizing glance. “He is not the easy-going man I was familiar with, Professor. He has changed, become secluded and difficult, avoided company. Eventually his wife left him and his relationship with his son is strained to put it mildly. I’m surprised that you both get along so well. It’s been a long time since he has allowed anyone to get that close to him.” She gives me a long look. “Maybe two lone wolfs know when it is worth it to team up and hunt together.”

Amasov’s frozen picture stares at me and although he looks like he’s been through hell, the haunted expression in his eyes I’ve often seen in the past weeks still is missing. Whatever has cost him his peace, it hadn’t happened at this point.

 _I want us to be confidants, Margaret. No secrets. No hiding._ His words cling in my ear, wrench my heart. He gave me his trust in the beginning – that was clear, but I wasn’t aware of its full impact. _It’s been a long time since he has allowed someone to come that close._ Holy Pi.

I swallow. Two lone wolfs.

“Anyway, Professor. It’s not about not trusting Captain Amasov. It’s about the fact that it’s impossible to assess how he will react to this information. We need him in the team at all costs; we can’t afford to lose him.”

I hand her back the PADD. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Trancelike I walk back to Amasov’s quarters and am greeted with a delicious smelling lunch. Unfortunately my hunger is gone.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Margaret.”

 _His face, all over with blood and dirt._ Oh shit. I cover my mouth.

Eying me closely he arches an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? What did Nechayev want from you?”

So what now? I promised to have no secrets and I keep my promises. But on the other hand, how to tell him? What if his first reaction is as Nechayev fears, namely that he leaves the team?

“Gretchen?”

“Joseph…” How to say this? Stick to the truth, Margaret. Sighing, I search for his eyes. “Joseph. I’m not allowed to talk to you about this. But I will tell you as soon as I find the right words. I promise. Give me a bit time, please.”

His expression becomes even more worried. _It’s been a long time since he has allowed anyone to get that close._ Laying my hand on his arm, I squeeze him gently. “I’m fine, Joseph. I promise – I will tell you.”

He nods.

We eat in silence.

“Don’t tell me you still aren’t used to the uniform, Margaret. It has been how long now?”

Stopping mid-movement I become aware that I’ve been scratching my arm.

“Twelve days,” I reply with clenched teeth, welcoming any change in topic. “It makes absolutely no sense to me that I’m not allowed to wear civilian clothes anymore, but I won’t go into that discussion again, Joseph.”

He takes a sip from his glass of water. “I’m still of the opinion that it’s Hayes’ revenge on you. After all, you are a civilian and because of Nechayev’s guardianship he can’t throw you out off the team that easily. So coercing you into a uniform citing some obscure rules might have been the only way he could get some payback and cut you down to size. He certainly knows that you are very critical towards Starfleet.”

“It’s humiliating.”

“Come on, Margaret. I think the uniform suits you. Besides, who has humiliated whom? You came here to the station and almost chewed his head off the next day in front of the whole team.”

“You know my reasons.”

“And then a few days later you claim – again in front of the whole team – that his calculations are incorrect.” Amasov leaves his chair and heads towards the replicator. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please. And heavens, it was a miscalculation. Even if they pull them out of the simulation via the inane reversed mode, they should at least do it with correct algorithms. Anyway, you participated, too, in revealing his failure. Why didn’t he demote you to ensign?”

“Because I wouldn’t have cared.” He grins, placing two coffee mugs on the table. ”As long as I am free to be on a starship I don’t care. If he wanted to get a score, he would have had to demote me to admiral. Hayes is usually a fine officer, Gretchen, but he is a bit of a swashbuckler. And swashbucklers are commonly not very fond of being carpeted.”

The coffee tastes like heaven and lifts my spirits again. “Demoted to an admiral. Aha.”

The grin on his face becomes even broader. “I consider it a demotion. Desk jobs are the death of me.”

Chuckling, I grin back. “Currently, you look very alive despite having a desk job.” And immediately recognize that I’ve made a mistake.

The mood in the room suddenly becomes very grave.

“It’s for Chakotay’s sake.” His face is an unreadable mask.

Darn. Really, really perfect Margaret. Especially after what you’ve heard this morning from Nechayev about the ‘opossum manoeuvre’. Chakotay is, after all, the reason why Amasov is still alive. “I’m sorry, Joseph.”

Standing up from his chair, he takes a PADD from his desk; one of Nechayev’s increasingly rare reports. “I’m giving this a read-through. Meanwhile you can screen the downloaded data and check if your hunch is right.”

I stand up too, touch his upper arm. “Joseph. I’m sorry.”

His face softens a little. He looks so tired. “I know you are. Thanks, Margaret.”

With a smile I point towards the PADD. “What is it about?”

Activating the PADD he casts a look on it, his brow furrowing. “The _Val Jean_ ’s crew. Chakotay.”

“Go on. Meanwhile, I’ll give the fragment a try and check my hypothesis.”

Amasov just nods without drawing his eyes from the PADD and seats himself in a slow movement.

Sighing I take the chip and head towards my console with a weird feeling in my guts. That Nechayev's reports have become rare is one thing, but she had also retracted more and more from us; has left us almost solely to work together with the rest of the Starfleet bunch on selected data fragments from the simulation. Even with this more or less useless official data we are stuck. Digging unauthorized into deeper levels is also not possible, since Starfleet doesn't seem to trust anyone with the complete raw data material - we only have restricted access to the tiniest bits.

But our secret undercover team is useless without new information.

All of our attempts to convince Nechayev that we need access to material on other ships besides _Voyager_ have been in vain. Her behavior is simply irritating. My daughter and her crew are still trapped, and my hands are bound. I could scream. If it hadn't been for Amasov's calm manner, I surely would have exploded in the meantime.

Instead, he has focused my energy on the things we have in our hands and the dry spell also has provided its positive side. I don't think I would have scrutinized the small data fragment we were given to work on in such detail if I had been distracted with other information. Most probably I would have - like everyone else - stuck to the more obvious data on the data fragment such as the simulation’s medical recordings of the crew, _Voyager_ ’s scanner readings and so on. And if I had been given a chance to view snippets from the videotape of the crew’s activities, then I surely would have ignored even these data just to catch a glimpse of my daughter.

But no. Instead of tinkering with exciting things, I was confronted with loads of dull data which was only of interest to Hayes to support his extraction strategy. Out of boredom I even screened into the dullest aspect of the data - the time track of the fragment, which merely states the progress of time. Without Amasov’s gentle persistence, I wouldn’t have recognized the potential irregularity in the progression of time.

It took me a few days to develop a program which would analyze the data, and it took Amasov a few days to come up with a plan so that we could secretly download the fragment from the investigation unit’s computer system and work on it in our quarters.

Working behind the backs of Starfleet AND Nechayev is risky - if we are caught, we will be kicked off of the team before we can say 'but!' and Nechayev will most likely not back us up. However, Amasov and I have decided to give this a shot nevertheless. Lives may depend on us.

Sliding the chip with the stolen data into the console, I activate my newly designed program. It takes a while to sort through the data fragment and adjust the program to calculate the velocity of time. Biting my lip, I stare at the result. What had been a gut feeling a few days ago has now been confirmed. Sometimes I really hate to be right.

“Joseph?” My voice croaks and I’m unable to hide my agitation.

He lifts his head. “How much faster is the time progressing than normal?”

I lick my lips, my mouth feels dry. “Well, if Nechayev’s rough overall estimation of sixty to seventy years of elapsed time is right and if I interpret this small data fragment correctly, then currently time within the simulation is running at least six to eight times faster than it should.”

“That makes no sense.” Laying the PADD on the table, he walks to my console and screens through the displayed data.

“No it doesn’t. But as I’ve said - I might be wrong. It is after all a very small fragment.”

“So we basically have three possible scenarios: first, your calculations are incorrect and the time runs at the rate it should.” His grin is so broad that he deserves my snarky snort. “Second, your calculations are right because Nechayev has missed a time loop, the overall time is longer than she’d estimated and therefore time is running as fast as it should.”

He pauses and leans against the console with a thoughtful expression. “Or thirdly, both yours and Nechayev’s calculations are correct, time is running faster in the simulation than it should but there are no additional time loops, which means that we’ve somehow missed something important.”

My eyes are drawn back to the displayed data. “I fear, Joseph, that it is option number three. I can't pinpoint it exactly, but there is something unusual about how time is progressing. I think it is not progressing constantly. Anyway we can't know for sure until we have a bigger fragment.”

"Another one of your hunches?" His voice is soft and tilting my head to judge his expression, I can only read sincerity there. We've come to trust each other in a way I hadn't expected to happen.

"Yes."

He rubs his chin. "Then we have to take scenario number three seriously into account. I do, however, have no idea what to make of it."

"Me neither. Yet," I sigh. "What was in Nechayev's report?"

"Hmmm." Walking to his desk again, he picks up the PADD. "This time, Nechayev brought us an interesting one. Although I have to admit that I have to think about this information more before I jump to any conclusions. You know that Chakotay is officially listed as missing?"

I shake my head.

"Well, Margaret. Chakotay vanished in November 2367 during an away mission. All efforts from Starfleet’s side to find him were futile. He was declared missing a few months afterwards." Amasov sighs and it is obvious that this has cost him much. "Anyway, according to Nechayev's report, Chakotay was amongst the first victims captured by Section 31. He was put into stasis until there were enough experimental subjects and the first test run could be started. Like all other victims, his short term memory was wiped out and adjusted to the simulation’s reality so that they would accept the transition easily. As the simulation was a success, others were hijacked and introduced into the program; amongst them was Admiral Paris’ son."

I stare at him open-mouthed, the dreadful time which I’d spent at the Paris’ home after Tom had been thrown out of Starfleet as a consequence of the Caldik Prime disaster and had vanished without a trace still vividly in my mind. “Holy Pi.”

“Yes. Holy Pi. But that’s not all.” He swallows hard and gives me a long look. "Over eighty percent of all the test subjects died in the process of embedding them into the simulation."

"Shit." I cover my mouth with my hand. Eighty percent.

We remain silent for a few seconds. Amasov's voice is hoarse when he continues. "Yes, eighty percent. Anyway, the aim of this very first experiment differed from all subsequent simulations. They wanted to find out what it would take to make someone so disillusioned with the Cardassian situation that he would find no other solution than to join a rebel group called the Maquis. You surely have heard of them. They exist outside the simulation too."

"Yes."

"Within the simulation, Chakotay's family was wiped out by the Cardassians almost completely - except for a sister. Chakotay left Starfleet, joined the Maquis and eventually captained his own rusty old vessel, the _Val Jean_. He remained, however, very true to himself despite the circumstances. His tactical experience saved the _Val Jean_ ’s crew more than once from death. Unlike the other simulations afterwards, the _Val Jean_ ’s simulation was never intended to happen in the Delta Quadrant. Indeed, it looks like the simulation was about to end since the vessel was in very bad shape and pursued by several Cardassian vessels.

"But for unknown reasons the _Voyager_ and the _Val Jean_ simulation fused immediately when the _Voyager_ crew was introduced into the system, but before they were finally embedded into the Caretaker Scenario. Or in other words, the fusion must have happened in this intermediary phase where Kathryn’s reality was adjusted and transmuted in such a way so that everybody would accept the Caretaker Scenario. The consequence was that in the merged realities _Voyager_ became part of the _Val Jean_ 's simulation and vice versa.”

Amasov pauses and I walk to the table to get us something to drink. “Water?”

“Yes please.”

Pouring fresh water into the glasses, I ponder over the information. “Let me recapitulate. Fused reality - if I understand it correct, Kathryn and her crew were kind of plugged to the system, but not yet embedded fully within the simulation.”

“Yes.”

I hand him his glass and take a sip. “And at this stage both realities started to overlap.”

“Correct.”

“What did this shared reality look like? I mean Kathryn’s ship was hijacked years after Chakotay was kidnapped and they had no connection with each other, neither personally or professionally. And how were they all embedded into the same simulation?”

“Well, actually it happened in an astonishingly simple way, Margaret. In the simulation Kathryn’s reality was slightly altered, which is - as I said already - the normal procedure for any hijacked crew so that they would accept the subsequent Caretaker Scenario. Kathryn’s simulation additionally merged in this stage with Chakotay’s simulation and incorporated the _Val Jean_ ’s simulated history. Apparently things seemed conclusive enough for everyone to accept it as common reality, although from the outside it certainly resembles an interesting patchwork of information. _Voyager_ ’s altered reality was as follows: Instead of merely going on her maiden flight, as she did in our reality before she vanished, Starfleet ordered Kathryn’s security officer, Tuvok, to infiltrate Chakotay’s crew. Kathryn was ordered to track down and capture the Maquis when Tuvok didn’t report back. The _Val Jean_ was pulled completely into the Caretaker Scenario and flung within the simulation via a displacement wave into the Delta Quadrant; _Voyager_ followed in the simulation three weeks afterwards in pursuit of the _Val Jean_. In the course of the Caretaker Scenario both crews were then finally integrated into the simulation’s matrix and both ships ended up in the Delta Quadrant with massive casualties and soon were struggling with the first designed experiment - the Kazon, a belligerent species.”

My head starts spinning and I lift my hand. "Wait! Just to have it right. Kathryn hunted Chakotay?"

"Yes."

"He became her first officer! How the hell did they manage to change from being enemies to being a command team?"

"I have no idea, Margaret. Sure, she was short one first officer, since Cavit didn’t survive the embedding into the simulation, but there would have been definitely other options than Chakotay. However, if Nechayev is right and the reason why they've survived the simulation so far lies in the personality of the captains, then this question might be of paramount importance."

“Hmmm. This brings us back to our lack of additional data. Alright, Joseph, go on.”

"The really striking thing was Kathryn’s reaction upon being stranded in the Delta Quadrant. Unlike all the other captains, she decided to destroy the Caretaker's array, which brought them into this quadrant, in order to protect the Ocampa, a people native to the Delta Quadrant. At this point, the array was _Voyager_ ’s only way back to the Alpha Quadrant. Apparently her decision was an unexpected move: Kathryn's massive intervention caused a severe glitch in the simulation's matrix and backfired into the core system of the main control unit which monitors all active simulations. It made it impossible for Section 31 to introduce additional crews to the experiment."

“So ultimately it is because of Kathryn’s decision that no further vessels were hijacked?”

“Yes. The other captains either didn’t get a chance to face this decision at all since they had to escape from the Kazon attacks as soon as possible, or, they opted to use the array for themselves in some way. For example, there was a Ferengi crew who cooperated with the Kazon and established a trading outpost on the array.”

We both remain silent for a few seconds.

"Is that all?"

He nods.

“Well then.” I let a slow breath through pursued lips. "Did you notice that we were observed again today? I'm pretty sure now that they are not Nechayev's minions."

Amasov frowns. "I noticed. They could belong to Hayes, which would explain why Nechayev drops fewer and fewer reports. She might know that she and consequently we are under observation and is therefore more cautious. Nevertheless..." He pauses and runs his hand through his hair.

"What?"

"But why doesn't Nechayev talk with us about being observed then? Why doesn't she warn us? Why does she refuse to give us more information? After all it was she who insisted we stick to the truth."

"No offense meant, Joseph, but she is Starfleet to the very core and we have no idea about her ulterior motives. We simply might come in handy and she is using us for her purposes. I still have the feeling she is hiding something from us." Today's meeting surfaced again in my mind. Hell, she even wanted me to hide something from Amasov.

He grimaced. "I share your feeling - she is hiding something. But... I'm not sure if the minions really belong to Hayes either."

I raise my eyebrow. "No?"

"Either they hide it perfectly, or they have no connection to Hayes at all. I tried to keep an eye on them for the last few days. A connection between them somehow wasn't very convincing to me." Biting his lips he starts pacing the room. "Margaret. I'd like to think through a hypothetical scenario with you.”

“Alright,” I say hesitantly, curious what he is up to again.

“Let's assume that Nechayev is aware of being observed and is therefore cautious about giving us new information. Or maybe she has already given us everything Starfleet knows. There might also be another motive why she doesn’t contact us anymore. I don't know. But in any case, it looks like we won’t get much information from her in the near future. At least not the information we need. Furthermore let's assume that Lt. Padri and Dr. Thual don't belong to Hayes either..." His voice trails off and he gives me a troubled look.

"This doesn't make any sense. Unless..."

"... unless there is a third party involved which has an eye on us... and maybe also on Starfleet."

"Holy Pi. Are you sure that Padri and Thual are not Starfleet?"

"No." He sighs. "No. I'm not sure, but it could be."

"Who is this third party then? Someone from an interest group of the Federation?" I pause. "Section 31?"

Pressing his lips together he gives me a long look. "I have no idea, Margaret. But if I am right and they don't belong to Hayes either, this could mean real trouble. I mean real trouble."

We both know what real trouble in this case could mean. Deadly trouble. Someone, who doesn’t care about thousands of victims dying within an experiment, won’t care about eliminating two elderly people snooping around in the wrong things.

My heart pounds hard in my chest. “I guess the only way to find out without getting busted is to ask Nechayev. We can’t risk losing the possibility of working on this project, unless we leave Kathryn and her crew to the insane reversed Caretaker procedure Starfleet is planning. And this will only happen over my dead body."

"Mine too. Yes, talking to Nechayev about Lt. Padri and Dr. Thual is most probably the only way – if she talks to us at all. In any case this doesn't change our problem with the lack of information."

It's like running in a circle. Sighing, I rub my neck with a bitter taste on my tongue. "Then our only option-,“ my voice drips with sarcasm, “–to make real progress is to wait for Nechayev's scarce reports and to steal the small fragments we are allowed to work on?"

Amasov shakes his head. “I agree, this is no option. Obtaining our information solely from Nechayev's reports is like looking on the world using someone else’s eyes. And those data fragments ... are fragments only. You were right last week - we need more data.” Amasov meets my eyes. “I appreciate it that you are not smug now.”

God. I feel so tired. “Joseph. It’s not about being right or wrong, nor triumphing over others. It’s about getting them out of the simulation as soon as possible.”

“Yes. And that’s why I’m glad that it’s you who is with me in this mess.” He lays his hand on my shoulder. “Margaret, I’ve had some thoughts on this. But before I go into details - are you able to handle a phaser?”

I stare at him. “I’m mathematician Joseph. I don’t use a phaser to solve equations.”

He sighs. “I thought as much. Have you learned any self-defense techniques or anything like that?”

“No, not that I recall. Unless you consider ballet and double pirouettes as self-defense techniques.”

Burying his face in his hand, Amasov lets out a slow breath before he faces me again. “Ummm. Not exactly what I was hoping for.”

"Why should I need self-defense techniques, Joseph?"

"Well, I thought of another tiny cloak and dagger mission,” he says with a sheepish expression.

“Another cloak and dagger mission? Tiny?" I say with a foreboding in my guts. The last ‘miniscule’ cloak and dagger mission involved snatching Hayes command codes and stealing classified data. I don’t even want to know what he means with ‘tiny’.

"Margaret, we need the data."

"Yes," I answer slowly.

"And the data access on the station is very secured."

"Of course it is."

"But the station is not the only location with data access - we could also get to the data directly from _Voyager_ , the _Val Jean_ or the _Equinox_." He beams at me.

‘Tiny’ as in breaking into a vessel with a high security level. I glare at him. "Are you crazy? How do you intend to go there? The ships are heavily guarded."

"They are, but compared to the station they are less secured and have some weak spots. I have had a peek on the security details. _Voyager_ is the biggest vessel of all three and has a lot of security personnel on it, but relatively speaking it is less than on the others. In addition, there is in regular intervals a security meeting where some rooms are not guarded for a few minutes. The parts with Section 31's control rooms and data panels are of course protected by level ten forcefields so that beaming from the outside directly in to this place is impossible. But there are less secure spots on _Voyager_ and with a bit of luck and skill we could access the control rooms using the Jefferies tubes. Furthermore -"

I lift my hand to interrupt him. “Wait, Joseph. I’m seventy years old. I don’t intend to crawl in Jefferies tubes and outsmart combat-trained Starfleet officers.”

The smirk in his face is almost unbearable. “I would have accepted that as an excuse if we were in the year 1740.”

“What?”

“Margaret, what’s the point? Seventy is no age nowadays. Jean-Luc Picard is also seventy and crawls through Jefferies tubes. And I’m seventy two and still do it.”

“Do I look like Jean-Luc Picard?”

“No, I guess not. Too much blond curly hair.” He grins. “Anyway, with a bit of help from my side and a holotraining program, you will even outsmart some lazy ensigns.”

“Very funny. Forget it, Joseph. I won’t crawl through Jefferies tubes.”

He only lifts his eyebrows with a smirk in his face.

My heart sinks into my boots. I know when I have lost a battle.

 

=^=

**14 days later**

Day 47 (2105 hours)

 

“ _Get a move on, Gretchen. You’re as slow as a dead snail,”_ Amasov’s voice sounds over the commline.

Alright, now it’s settled. I’m going to throttle him when the training program is finished on the first offering opportunity to lay my hands on his throat. It has been nerve-racking the last two weeks, especially the last three days, but today he is u-n-b-e-a-r-a-b-l-e.

It’s one thing that apparently today I’m not able to crawl fast enough through a damned Jefferies tube or to remember a simple corridor map. But I’m fed up with his bloody comments. Really fed up. Margaret dadi-dada-daaaaa. Margaret wrong corridor – now you have to disable a forcefield. Margaret that was the wrong code. Ha! I bet my left arm that it was the right code.

Only the junction to the ventilation shaft leading to my quarters remains. I hate that one – it’s because of my size.

Or the lack thereof.

Jumping upwards to reach the ladder, I somehow grasp the stave and try to pull myself upwards while struggling with my feet on the wall. And fail. One sweaty hand slips off, my feet lose the grip.

Fine.

Now I’m hanging on one hand like a sack full of potatoes in the junction. Great, Margaret.

Somehow I manage to continue with a very creative usage of one of my legs. Years of ballet pay off. So Amasov. When comes your lovely comment?

_“Really elegant movement, Margaret.”_

Ha! Indeed. It will be a slow throttling.

Sweat runs down my face when I descend out of the ventilation shaft, and grabbing the towel, I walk without a further word directly to the console to assess where I’d failed so miserably. Staring at the data, a growl escapes me. “You cheated.”

His expression remains calm. “If you’d had your head clear, Margaret, you would have checked interim times and would have been aware that I was provoking you the whole time to distract you. In fact you were pretty fast, despite all the unexpected obstacles. But instead you chose only to hear what you wanted to hear. A Starfleet officer, full of arrogance towards a civilian.”

“You cheated!” I screen through the data. Unbelievable. He’d modified the codes for the secured area and even changed the corridors. Amongst other things.

Slow. Throttling.

“Margaret, things are rarely going to go smooth during a mission. You should be prepared for all eventualities.”

What’s enough, is enough. Throwing the towel on the floor, I head towards the holodeck’s exit. “You know what, Joseph? I’m going to do it by myself. I’m used to doing things by my own. I’ll find another way to get to that data without crawling on my knees or your arrogant comments.”

Gripping me firmly at my upper arm, he stops me, forcing me to face him. His eyes sparkle from anger. “Doing things alone? That is exactly the problem. When we are out there, Margaret, I need to rely on you to one hundred percent. No solo runs. I know that you were forced to do everything on your own in the past and that you’ve lost all trust in people, so that now doing things on your own is your sole solution to almost every problem. Am I right?” We stare at each other and I refuse to answer on this nonsense.

His eyes bore into mine. “You think I am wrong and it is different? Very well then. Tell me, Margaret, who was looking after you, when Edward died? When Kathryn vanished and was declared dead?”

“No one,” I grumble in response. “This is the fate of a Starfleet officer’s wife and mother.”

He hesitates. “And when Phoebe was born or later when your daughters grew up?”

The question lingers in the room. It’s like a punch in my stomach. There is no way he could have known that Edward hadn’t found the time even to come to Phoebe’s birth, let alone to spend much time with my daughters when they grew up. Unless Amasov had checked my personal files and had dug in intimate details of my life.

Loosening his grip, he takes a step back and although the sudden loss of his grasp on my arm is relieving, I’ve rarely felt so trapped in my life ever before. Wiping my sweaty hands on my trousers, I face him with cold anger in my chest.

“I was alone,” I say through gritted teeth. Pressing my lips together, I break our look and wrap my arms around myself. The hell with him. So much about trusting a stranger.

Oh god. And why does this hurt so much then?

Well, face the truth Margaret. It’s because he’d ceased to be a stranger almost since the first evening. He’d learned more about me in a few weeks than others have in decades. No secrets between us, no pretending. We are what we are; something relieving and scary at the same time.

He’d become a friend. A close friend. That’s why it hurts so much.

As if reading my mind he continues with a soft voice. “I didn’t want to offend you, Gretchen. Remember, I’m a tactician. It’s my profession to assess who I’m working with and to learn their weaknesses.”

“You…” I bite on my lip. “You had no right to dig in my private life.”

“A wise friend of mine recently told me that it’s not about being right or wrong.” He places his hands softly on my upper arms. I stiffen at his touch, still avoiding his gaze. “Margaret. Your unresolved anger clouds your judgment. You have to trust people again, because this time you can’t solve it alone. You have to cooperate. And that doesn’t mean only teaming up with me. It means teaming up with Starfleet. Not everything Starfleet does is bad. Nor is everything good. I need you to see beyond that. I need you to see what is. The lives of many people rely on your assessment.”

Rubbing my hand over my face, the weight of his statement descends on my shoulders. Almost one hundred and fifty people relying on my unclouded assessment. Including Kathryn. Why me?

“Never do that again, Joseph,” I whisper. “Do you hear me? Never.”

He hesitates. “Margaret, I won’t promise that. I can’t. If I want to be a true friend then I have to confront you with the things that really block you. I expect you, no, I rely on you to kick my butt in return if you realize that I’m heading in the wrong direction. Our friendship is too important to me to act differently.”

Tearing my eyes from the floor, I meet his glance. At least he seems to be equally uncomfortable with this situation. “Well then, Joseph, how about giving me access to your files?”

“They’re mostly classified,” he replies immediately.

He must be kidding. We were reading solely classified reports the last few weeks. Ridiculous, unless he wants to hide … Narrowing my eyes, I fix him with my hands on my hips, shooting low. “And your habit of screaming in the nights now and then is the result of big pink elephants with blue dots dancing in your dreams.”

Rarely have I witnessed someone going pale so fast.

And rarely have I felt so bad to have hit the mark.

Running his fingers through his hair, he takes a deep breath. “Receiving a kick in the butt is not much fun, isn’t it?”

“No.”

All energy has left the room. Amasov looks as deflated and worn out as I feel; an unpleasant lump forms in my throat. Out of necessity, we both have brought each other to our limits.

My unresolved issues with Starfleet.

His experience with the Borg.

Am I really standing with my anger equally in my way as the Borg in Amasov’s life? If the answer is ‘yes’, I have to face it. We both have to face it. Many lives may depend on it.

Amasov is right. Protecting each other from unpleasant feelings is the wrong way; leads to nothing in the end. Coming to a decision, I swallow.

“Nechayev’s latest analysis revealed that part of the simulation seems to include Borg-algorithms. She’d asked me not to tell you yet, but I think it’s important that you know,” I say quietly, aware of what that would mean to him.

Amasov closes his eyes, his voice is pressed. “I understand.”

Visibly battling with himself, he finally meets my look. “Margaret. I’ve promised myself beforehand that in order to save Chakotay I won’t hold back anything from you if you turn out to be trustworthy. Having read your files and being familiar with Edward and Kathryn, I knew from the start that you must be someone of integrity and strength. You confirmed that impression already in the first evening and on every day since.” He pauses, straightens his shoulders and takes a deep breath. “I’m going to give you all files which are available about me. Including the counselor’s assessments on the hell of a mess of my emotional status.”

The unpleasant lump becomes even bigger. Holy Pi. He feels guilty for not being able to fully recover from Wolf 359. Messy emotional status? I’d like to see other people coping with something like he’d gone through. ‘Healthy’ is a relative term when you’ve been in hell and beyond. “Joseph. You should know already that I don’t rely much on others assessments and that I like to use my own brain.”

His expression softens a little. “Thanks.”

Softly I touch his shoulder. “That’s what friends are for.”

Joseph responds only with a forced smile.

Darn. He was right in the beginning that the journey would be an emotional one and that we have to care for each other to succeed. I sigh. “Alright, Joseph. Get the training program going again. Five days left to get me on track.” Heading to the entrance of the ventilation shaft, I point with my finger on him, trying to cheer him up a little. “I’ll even allow you to cheat this time.”

Stretching my tense muscles, I wait for his signal to start the training program.

“Margaret?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Turning around, I look at him, and in some weird way, it’s as we’ve never met before. A familiar stranger. Like a layer of his being has peeled off and reveals a new, fascinating facet of his personality. Indeed fascinating.

“You are welcome, Joseph.”

This time the smile on his face is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> parts of the video-log from Wolf 359 stem from memory beta (see entry: Joseph Amasov)


	4. Revelations

**6 days later**

Day 53 (0435 hours)

My mouth tastes metallic. With my hands sweaty and sore from crawling, I drag myself along the last meters of the Jefferies’s tube before we reach the junction to the ventilation shaft leading to my quarters. Every muscle in my body is tense.

Joseph motions with his hand to stop. Again. The worried expression on his face has only deepened the last seventy minutes since we went off on our cloak-and-dagger mission to _Voyager_.

Things haven’t gone too well so far.

To be correct, they haven’t gone well the last thirty six hours. Although we have tried to prepare for all eventualities we couldn’t have foreseen the sudden appearance of a series of short-lived ion storms washing over the station, which almost unhinged the usual daily routine and set everyone into high alert.

Despite the station’s well preparedness against the Badlands’ frequent plasma storms and gravimetrical anomalies, the polarized shields don’t offer much defense against ion storms, a phenomenon rarely encountered in this area of space.

To us this occurrence had been a double-edged sword. Certainly, the storm’s interference with almost all major systems, including the internal sensors, was to our advantage. It also meant, however, that all vessels attached to the station within the hangar were in utmost danger, since the weakened shields shook the station and the docked ships to their foundations.

Frantic action had been the consequence.

Since long range sensors are useless in the Badlands, forewarning probes had been hastily installed over a few light years surrounding the station to at least gain a few hours before the storm hits, but most of the time the system didn’t work.

All vessels with inactive simulations had been launched into space so that they could maneuver freely at a safe distance from the station in case a higher intensity storm approaches. Keeping them docked in the hangar is too risky, as the storm’s force might loosen the docking clamps and the vessels could become deadly missiles within the hangar. Only the three ships with an active simulation, _Voyager_ , the _Val Jean_ and the _Equinox_ , still remained docked to the station, although they had been protected with additional shields and their docking plates to the station were reinforced.

Despite all efforts, the fact remains that we are all exposed and vulnerable - any higher-leveled ion storm could tear the rusty station to pieces or shut down the simulation Kathryn and her crew are in.

Or make us an easy prey for others.

I’m not the only one whose nerves had been raw, although mine had been even more overwrought with the prospect of breaking into _Voyager_ and downloading the data.

Joseph decided to stick to the plan and do it tonight. The general chaos was certainly in our favor and as my companion had correctly pointed out, the ion storms could as well stop in the short time we need for our mission.

In the beginning it looked as if he was right. Everything was silent and went according to our plan, even the download of the data.

Until our way back.

The floor’s soft vibrations announced that another ion storm had started as we passed the junction of the tube leading back from _Voyager_ to the station, but had soon ebbed again so we could continue our way back.

But this time it is different. The vibrations grow in intensity.

With clenched teeth I look at Joseph. Fear spreads through my stomach. “A stronger storm wave?”

He doesn’t even have the chance to answer before the floor buckles under me. In desperation I grip one of the Jefferies’s tube struttings to steady myself. Joseph isn’t that lucky and slithers on his back along the plating in my direction.

The howling of the red klaxons is interrupted by a second violent tremor.

This time I’m too slow to react. So is Joseph.

It’s me who is first thrown against the Jefferies’s tube wall. The blistering pain shooting through my left shoulder turns immediately into a white lightning when Josephs body lands on mine, pressing the last bit of air out of my lungs.

Something in my arm cracks.

With a loud thud we slump on the floor, the station’s wild vibrations adding to my world of pain. A few endless moments later everything is silent again.

Moaning I try to sit upright as my spinning surroundings cause me to feel nauseous. From the edge of my consciousness I feel Joseph’s hands steadying my shoulders. My breath goes ragged.

“Damn it! Margaret, are you alright?”

I need to breath through the pain before I am able to answer. “I guess I’ve broken something,” I say through clenched teeth. “You?”

“Some contusions, but I should be fine.” He sounds worried, for which he has every reason to be. The ventilation shafts junction is still to manage and we both know that with a broken arm or more I won’t be able to do it.

Leaning back on the tube’s wall, I close my eyes, the nauseous sensation in my body almost overwhelming my senses. “I can’t climb the ladder with this arm.” My voice is shaky. “Nor in this condition.”

He remains silent for a few seconds. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I want you to hold on somewhere in case another shockwave hits the station.”

Opening my eyes slowly, I look into his pale face. “Please be cautious.”

With his lips pressed together, he nods. “I will.”

As he enters the junction to the ventilation shaft he shoots me a look and our eyes lock briefly, before he turns around and vanishes. An unexpected feeling of oppression spreads within me. Letting out a slow breath I try to calm myself.

He will be fine. And so will Kathryn. Joseph is a battle-trained Starfleet officer and can cope with the short distance until my quarters. And Kathryn’s ship and the simulation where she is trapped are secured.

They will be fine.

They must.

With my arm thumping like mad and a back stiff like a plank, I’m waiting for Joseph to return, my heart’s rapid pounding increasing with every wave of vibrations. The minutes creep by as I focus on my breathing and recite Pi several times to almost the last digit I remember.

Calmness only returns warily into my churned up body and mind.

A cool rush of relief washes over me when I hear the unmistakable sound of him returning. His face is still pale, but this time a small smile plays around his lips.

“How are you, Margaret?” he says softly as he comes to a halt beside me.

“Glad that you are back,” I respond.

Taking the medical tricorder, Joseph runs it over my hand. "Your radius is broken, the wrist is contused and you have a metacarpal fracture."

“Great,” I mutter.

He grabs the regenerator and starts healing my bruises. Remaining quiet, I close my eyes, thankful for the subsiding pain.

"Hey, Margaret," he finally says with a gentle voice and touches my shoulder. Opening my lids I meet his sparkling eyes. “Only a few meters left and we’ve finished this mission. Let’s go home before another wave hits and I have to mend one of your bones again.”

Groaning, I somehow manage with his support to get on all fours and to continue crawling with shaky arms and legs. The station’s vibrations have lessened again. The only question is for how long.

With my last ounce of strength I heave myself with Joseph’s help into the ventilation shaft and overcome the final obstacle. My knees tremble as I set foot into my quarters.

Finally. The mission is over.

There is not the slightest feeling of triumph within me, just nausea and the sharp remnants of fear. I’m even too exhausted to feel tired. Slumping against the wall, I run my hand over my sweaty forehead.

Judging from Joseph’s expression I must look horrendous. Without a further word he wraps an arm around my waist and guides me gently to my couch, before he walks to the replicator and hands me a glass of cold water.

"Hey, Gretchen, we did it!” He smiles and sits beside me. “We've nicked precious data in front of Starfleet’s highly trained security. That alone should be reason enough to open up a bottle of champagne."

Resting my head on the couch’s backrest, I look at him wearily. His good mood is infectious; it’s impossible to resist. Feeling a small smile creeping over my face, I nod. "Yes. Nicked and brought successfully home."

"So tell me. What were you able to download?"

"I saved two different time tracks and the corresponding videotapes.”

“Including their journey’s first year?”

I snort. “You wished, Captain, and I downloaded.”

He laughs. "Great! And from when is the second track?"

"It’s a recent fragment. The time I had at my disposal was too short to download more."

He rubs his chin pensively. For the first time since we have arrived back I get a glimpse on his own exhaustion. "How many years do you think do these tracks cover?"

I shrug. "I think about three to five years. Maybe more if I am right with the faster progressing time."

"Good. How about the videotape? Is it really encrypted with the Borg algorithm as you have feared?"

Rubbing my sore neck, I sigh. "Yes, unfortunately, it is. Maybe we could have a look at the data. How late is it?"

"Past 0430. You should try to get a bit of sleep before we start working."

“Sleep? Now?” I shake my head. "I am too agitated to think of sleep. I think I'll screen through the data and see what I can make of it."

"Want some company?"

Smirking, I heave myself from the couch and drag my tired bones in the direction of the console. “Only if this company organizes some coffee for me."

"That can be easily arranged, my dear Professor." Laughing, Joseph stands up and heads towards the replicator.

Activating the console, I slide the chip with the data fragments into the slot and the two large time fragments appear on the screen. My hands are awkwardly wet.

Am I going to be right in my assumption that the time is faster than it should be? Or even that it is not progressing constantly?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"Gretchen?" Joseph places the coffee on the desk and eyes me with a worried expression.

"What if I am right?"

He leans with his hip against the desk. "Then we will find out why you are right."

Not for the first time I’m grateful for his steady companionship and his trust in my abilities. "Thank you."

Retreating from my desk he walks behind me and lays his hand on my shoulder. Warm. Comforting. With a deep breath I activate my program and start the analyzing sequence for the time tracks. "It will take a bit for a first rough overall calculation, but from that, we should be able to assess whether my hypothesis is right or not."

"Then try to relax meanwhile, Margaret. It was a tiring trip."

Closing my eyes I lean back in my chair, the exhaustion spreading through my body like soothing syrup. It’s pleasantly warm where my body touches Joseph, but he doesn't retract at our contact. Instead he gently caresses my shoulder with his thumb.

Embedded in a safe feeling, sleep almost lulls me in.

I startle at the beeps of the console which indicate that the initial scan is finished.

Opening my eyes wearily and leaving the cosiness of Joseph's presence I lean forward and type in a few commands. The time tracks start slowly unraveling before our eyes.

We both gasp.

Joseph's fingers dig deep into my shoulders. "Holy shit."

"Holy Pi."

"You were right, Margaret. It is option number three... It seems we have all overlooked something important."

Unable to avert my gaze from the screen, I take a deep breath. "It's inconstant, Joseph. The time progression is completely non-linear." With a trembling finger I point at one set of data. "This part here is at least eight times faster than Nechayev had assumed." I move to the next. "Here it accelerates even more. And here-" I point at a part somewhere later. "-it slows down. And here again. Those parts are definitely slower than Nechayev's predictions."

"Unbelievable. But this doesn't make sense to me. Why should the time pass at an inconstant rate within any simulation?"

Within any simulation.

The hairs on my neck stand up.

Turning around in my seat our eyes meet. Time. The unique characteristics of the shared simulation.

"Maybe the time is constant in some, but not in all simulations," I say slowly.

Joseph eyes widen. "You mean it is a characteristic of the time loops," he whispers.

Nodding, I stand up from my chair and start pacing in the room, the thoughts whirling in my mind and evaporating the last bit of exhaustion into nothingness. Just assuming that there is a link between the time loops and the inconstant time progress... what would that mean in consequence?

"Margaret, how do you think these irregularities are connected to the time loops?"

"I have no idea. But... why haven't we paid more attention to the time loops?" Stopping, I give him a long look. "Joseph, what happens to people who die within a time loop? Are they kind of put into an interposition so that they can be reactivated afterwards? After all, a time loop means a time loop. It is - as Nechayev said so adeptly - a reset button."

"A valid question."

"And moreover... why are there time loops at all? And how do they happen?"

“I have no idea.” Joseph rubs his chin. "We should be able to figure out via the videotape data from _Voyager_ if the phenomenon we found in the time track is somehow connected to time loops. Maybe there are special trigger events."

"If they are connected at all.” I pause. “The problem is the amount of video material, Joseph. How are we ever going to assess this material thoroughly? We have years from the simulation and we are only two people working in our spare time on it."

He sighs and shakes his head. "I have no idea, but we have to start somewhere... Another question is, whether or not we were lucky enough to download at least parts of a time loop. If not, all screening in this direction would be in vain."

I run my fingers through my hair. "True. So let’s think about the options we have at the moment and the next steps we have to take.”

Joseph shoots me an expectant look and I continue, “We need a reference simulation - one which is considered to be ‘normal’ - to check if the time progress there is constant or not.”

He lets out a slow breath. “Well, Margaret, to achieve this, we would have to either board one of the vessels or we try to snatch the data on the station. Perhaps this material is less secured than the only active simulation. This move would, however, require a lot of planning again."

"Yes. Do you think we would be able to do it?"

"Give me a few days to check the whereabouts of such data and the security levels. Of course we still have the problem of the reoccurring ion storms. As long as they are a threat, all vessels with inactive simulations will be not docked at the station, and we would have to beam over to them, which is not really advisable when an ion storm is messing with the transporters."

I bite my lips. Ion-storms. As if matters aren’t complicated enough without them. "Alright, Joseph. The next problem is to crack the Borg algorithm with which the videotapes are encrypted. I can give it a try myself, but this will take some time. The alternative would be to find out how Starfleet has done it and hack it their way. This would require digging in some classified material too."

"How about the fragments we were given to work on? Maybe there is a hint or a left-over from which you could start?

"Maybe. Or I could mask my intent behind an obscure question about the Borg algorithms and ask Nechayev directly. After all she has spoken to me about the algorithms before and since she is a Borg specialist she might be willing to talk about it.

"Good idea. Is there anything we both can immediately try to work on? Both steps you pointed out so far need further actions before we can continue."

"Hmmm." I walk back to the console, Joseph joins me. "Well, we have to analyze the time tracks in more detail. We should take notes about potential interesting parts, which we need to give a closer look later when we have access to the videotapes. Maybe we find also some patterns."

"Okay. This also holds true the other way round. If Nechayev is right and the captains' personalities play an important role, then we have to pay special attention to crucial points in Kathryn and Chakotay’s working relationship, like their initial contact or how they became a functioning command team. We need to find these events, analyze them from this viewpoint and pinpoint them on the time track.”

Kneading my still sore shoulders from our trip, I nod. "Sounds like a plan, Joseph. Although I have no clue how we ever are going to manage such a work load."

From the look on his face it is evident that he doesn’t know it either. "Well, Margaret, since each journey starts with the first step, let's start with a coffee. The universe usually brightens up a bit with a good cup. Or I hope so."

My eyes dart to the two untouched coffee cups on the desk. “We tried this strategy already, I guess.”

“Hmm. I don’t know how about you, but cold coffee doesn’t brighten up my universe.” He smiles at me. "I’ll get a new one and add some croissants."

While my faithful companion heads towards the replicator, I stare back at the view screen, almost losing my courage at the many hurdles lying before us.

How am I ever going to get Kathryn out of this?

As if the universe answers, the coffee cups before me start slightly rattling.

 

=^=

 

**9 days later**

Day 62 (0700 hours)

 

An annoying tune penetrates my sleep. Opening my eyelids with great effort, I curse loudly on realizing that I've dozed off while working on the data fragments. Sleeping sprawled half over a desk is maybe not the best of all ideas at my age. My back confirms this fact enthusiastically as I try to sit up.

Holy Pi. Does there exist a superlative to 'stiff'?

The annoying tune sounds again. It's the bathroom's door chime. Cringing, I shoot the clock beside me a short glance.

0700\. Breakfast time.

Groaning I lift my beaten body from the seat. "Come in."

Joseph enters my quarters with his usual morning cheeriness radiating from him.

I'm not in the mood for morning cheeriness.

"Morning, Margaret. Did you sleep-" I watch him process the scenery which must clue him into my condition. If my body's hints are any indicator then I must look like hell. Shaking his head, Joseph heaves a deep sigh. "Margaret. Don't tell me that you have worked the whole night and have fallen asleep at the desk."

A snort from my side is the only answer he gets. Heavens, I badly need a coffee.

"Margaret?"

Shuffling my feet towards the replicator without giving him another look, I suppress a violent yawn. A shower would indeed a good idea too. And hopefully Hayes doesn't cross my path today - this thought alone brings the sleep deprived beast within me to sharpen its claws.

Leaning with a shoulder on the cold bulkhead, I type in the commands for two coffees. I'm not in the mood for talking either.

Two heavenly smelling coffees materialize. Before I am able to grab them, Joseph’s hands wrap around the cups with the life-saving liquid.

"Go and sit down, Margaret. I'll take care of the breakfast. You are barely able to look straight." He studies me with a stern look. "No... forget that. Maybe you should take a shower first."

Grunting approvingly I turn in direction of the shower.

"And Margaret?"

My feet stop dragging my body to the bathroom.

"Although I would appreciate the sight," Joseph's voice is soaked with amusement, "don't forget to undress in the bathroom and take some fresh clothes with you."

Narrowing my eyes and slowly turning on my heels, I shoot him a warning glare.

He just answers with raised eyebrows and a not too innocent grin.

In vain I wait for the sleep deprived beast's growling. Weird. It usually is quite reliable under such circumstances. Without a further word I grab fresh clothes from my wardrobe and schlepp myself into the bathroom.

The shower's warm water works miracles and life reenters my body. Feeling almost human again in fresh clothes, I return to my quarters and treat myself to two cups of coffee. My mind slowly changes from brain-dead-status into a more perceptive mode.

Sipping at his own coffee, Joseph's views me with a still amused expression, but he is wise enough to wait until he speaks again after my third cup. "Feeling better?"

"Mmmmhmm." The coffee cup warms the inner palms of my hands. “Almost alive.”

“Only almost?” he says softly. “What kept you awake, Margaret? The time tracks?”

I nod wearily. “Yes. I think I found something.”

“You did?” Joseph sits straight in his chair with widened eyes. “What exactly? And why didn’t you wake me up?”

Unable to suppress a smile at his enthusiastic reaction, I put my coffee back on the table. “One bleary eyed member of our team is enough, don’t you think? Besides, someone has to get us safe through the day, and that won’t be me.”

He laughs. “Alright. I’m in charge for today’s course then. Now tell me what you’ve found out.”

Standing from the breakfast table, I head towards my console. Joseph follows my example. Somehow I feel revived again … and admittedly a bit proud to show him last night’s intuition.

“I thought it might be helpful displaying the time tracks in a different format to have another perspective on things. I transferred the time track’s velocity into something comparable to a music format.”

Activating the console I call up my latest calculations. A series of audio-signal-like waves appears on the screen. “I settled for a constant time course on the x-axis and plotted it against the velocity of the time track - basically it shows us graphically how fast the time in the fragment is progressing.

Joseph shoots me an astonished glance. “Impressive.”

“Thank you.” I smile back, excitement at my own discovery overtaking me. “Well… it occurred to me that similar to music there might be repetitions in the data. So I ran a scan over the time track. Computer, display the first time track fragment and show repetitive sequences. Mark similar patterns with the same color.”

Several marks appear on the screen, alternating either colored in red or in green. “I was lucky to have started this procedure with the first time track, because it wouldn’t have been obvious with the second.”

Joseph leans forward and studies the data. “Interesting. If I understand this correct then the red and the green pattern seem to occur in pairs, although the size of the interlude pieces between them varies.”

I nod. “I had the same thoughts.”

“Do these patterns appear in the other fragment too?”

“No. But in my opinion the second fragment comprises characteristics of the first one and indirectly confirms my hypothesis. I will show you later what I mean.”

“Hmmm.” Straightening himself again, he gives me a thoughtful look. “We still have to bear in mind that these patterns might also be a simple artifact or characteristic which occur in all simulations.”

Sighing, I rub my neck without breaking eye contact with him. “Yes, they might. Therefore we need a reference simulation as soon as possible to exclude this possibility. But there is something striking about these interludes in the first time track fragment, which lead me to presume that the repetitive patterns could be unique only to the _Voyager_ simulation.” Turning towards the computer I take a deep breath. “Computer, display the parts of the fragment with a more or less constant velocity in time in blue.”

Almost all parts of the simulations track turns into a blue color, only two small intermediate pieces remain uncolored. I can’t help smiling proudly.

Joseph whistles. “That means most parts are with a constant time progress?”

“Yes, and moreover …” I lean forward to him to emphasize my next words. “… they are in Nechayev’s predicted velocity.”

“Brilliant Margaret! But what’s with the interludes? They seem to vary more.”

“Yes they definitely do. And interestingly, the velocity in time seems to follow a certain pattern.” I magnify one interlude. “Computer, compare the velocity of the fragments parts marked in blue and with the velocity in the interlude. Mark parts with faster velocity in light colors, parts with slower velocity in dark colors.”

Joseph takes in a sharp breath, as the selected interlude is colored in all sort of light and dark colors. “The inconstant velocity in time!”

“Yes. And as I said before - the velocity in time seems to follow even a certain cyclic progress.” I grin proudly and drive with my finger along the blue signal of the constant time track. “Before the red pattern the time progresses constantly, then the red pattern occurs. But then,” I circle the part directly after the red pattern, which had turned into dark colors, “the time velocity seems to slow down massively for a short period. This- “ I touch a part of the track in bright yellow, “is followed by a phase with a strong increase in velocity above Nechayev’s predicted speed. And here-” My finger comes to a halt on a dark part before the green pattern, “it reduces its speed again and is below the predicted velocity. The cycle seems to end with the green pattern.”

“And I guess this cycle can also be found in the second interlude.”

Magnifying the second interlude so that he can see that the cycle is also evident in it to it, I watch him screening the data with a fascinated expression on his face. Not for the first time since I have arrived on the station I am thankful for the presence of this courageous and thoughtful man.

Slowly averting his gaze from the screen, he faces me. “You should have woken me up, Margaret. This is … incredible. I guess you are aware that these interludes could represent time loops?”

“Yes.” I smile.

“Hmmm.” He rubs his chin. “And these red and green patterns … might they have a marker function? For example the red patterns is the marker for ‘here-starts-a-time-loop’ and the green pattern the marker ‘here-stops-the-time-loop-and-things-can-continue-again-from-the-loop’s-starting-point’?”

“Interesting thought, Joseph. You might be right – these patterns could have a marker function. We could term them as start and stop patterns until we find something better suiting, what do you think?”

Joseph grins. “Alright. You indicated that the second track confirms your hypothesis indirectly.”

I nod. “In the first time track fragment these extreme decelerations in speed seem to occur only directly after a start pattern or before a stop pattern. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the velocity in time of the second time track fragment – I have an idea, but… Well. Computer, display the second fragment and mark it the same way as the others.”

The second fragment appears in bright colors on the screen and I give Joseph an expectant look, curious if he will share my hypothesis.

His eyes widen in surprise. "This fragment is from the end of the simulation? I mean, does it contain the current data of their journey?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm. Six point five times faster than the predicted velocity of Nechayev's calculations… “

"Mmmhmmm."

Joseph takes a deep breath. "Okay. I can guess in which direction your thoughts were heading. You assume a time loop consists of a cycle starting with the red start pattern followed by a massive retardation in time, then by an subsequent extreme acceleration and then again a strong retardation, which ends in the green stop pattern before the usual, regular time velocity comes into action again."

I nod.

"So, you think this fragment here represents the fast part of a time loop?"

"It is my hypothesis, yes."

"And you think that Kathryn and Chakotay are currently in a time loop?"

"If I am right - yes. And according to my calculations it must be a huge one."

"Alright Margaret. What are we going to do now?" Joseph starts pacing the room. "We can verify or falsify some of our assumptions when we have cracked the Borg algorithms and are able to view the videotape of the first fragment. If your hypothesis is right, then a time loop must be occuring in the interlude between the red and the green pattern. Actually, this must be visible on the videotape."

Leaning my hip on the desk I follow his restless movements with my eyes. "We have to wait until I've had the talk in two days with Nechayev concerning the Borg algorithms. But even if I have some hints from her how to crack the encryption algorithm, it will take me some time before we can have a first look into the videotapes."

"Yes. Two days until your talk. This gives us a bit time to get hands on a reference simulation."

"Have you had any breakthroughs with your research of security protocols?"

He stops pacing and grins broadly. "Oh yes, indeed I had yesterday evening. I think your talk with Nechayev will come in handy."

I raise my eyebrows. "How is that?"

"The USS _Magellan_ will be our target."

"What does this have to do with Nechayev?"

If possible, his grin broadens even more. "For whatever reasons, Nechayev regularly boards this vessel and seems to work there for hours in one of the scarcely used holo-decks."

"Strange. Is there something special with the _Magellan_ simulation?"

"Not that I know of except that it is a galaxy class ship. Anyway. My idea is as follows. You distract Nechayev with the algorithms and maybe you could also arrange a social meeting with her. Cafeteria or whatever. Meanwhile I will use the station’s emergency transport, which is less secured, and will mask my beam-out and -in as Nechayev's. Since people are used to her getting on and off-board at unusual times and obviously without having much interaction, nobody will pay this circumstance a lot of attention unless Nechayev turns up a second time on the USS _Magellan_ without having beamed back." He grins. "I will make sure to materialize directly into an empty room with access and download the data. This course of action spares me from crawling through Jefferies tubes and will circumvent the security force fields as I can enter with her signature and Hayes’ codes directly the secured area."

"This is risky, Joseph."

"I know. But sometimes hiding within the hubbub of everyday life can be very effective. However, it is crucial that Nechayev doesn't show up at the same time when I use her signal to mask mine."

"I will do my best to distract her. Nevertheless, I don't feel very comfortable with this plan."

"Have you ever felt comfortable with one of my plans?" he asks with a mocking expression and mischief sparkling in his eyes.

I laugh. "No, Joseph. They were all crazy."

"But they worked."

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Heavens, this man really means trouble. "They worked."

"Thanks so much for your trust," he teases.

Lifting my head, I meet his eyes. "Joseph, I trust you indeed. Otherwise, do you think I would go on a potentially dangerous mission with you?? This station and the vessels are secured for a reason. And the guards wear their phasers for a reason."

"Eating cake and drinking coffee with Nechayev is hardly a dangerous mission."

An unsettling feeling roots itself in my guts. "I'm not talking of this part of the plan, Joseph. I'm talking of you boarding a heavily guarded vessel, unauthorized, in the midst of the day, masked as Nechayev. You know as well as I do that security is acting very edgy lately. I'm not eager to identify your corpse if a guard mistakes you for a hostile intruder and shoots before asking." The unsettling feeling grows even deeper and I grit my jaw. “If there is a corpse at all Joseph. Ion-storms and transporters are rarely a good combination.”

His face becomes serious. "Margaret, I know, but I will be fine. Promise. The ion-storms have subsided again and the probability of one occurring exactly when I transport is really small. And security – well, I know how to get around them."

Pressing my lips together, I nod.

Despite his soothing words, the unsettling feeling in my gut remains.

 

=^=

**2 days later**

Day 64 (1810 hours)

 

“So Professor … you claim that there is nothing going on between you and Captain Amasov?” Nechayev’s saucy smirk is hard to beat. As if I don’t have enough problems.

Joseph is long overdue; he should have shown up in the cafeteria to join Nechayev and me thirty-six minutes ago.

Digging into the cake with my fork I take one bite and chew it carefully to play for time. It tastes like ashes, as all my food has for the last thirty-six minutes.

Something must have happened.

At least I can keep Nechayev distracted with speculations on my non-existent private life. Swallowing the dry amorphous mass I set for an answer, when the plates on the cafeteria’s table suddenly start rattling before the soothing effect of the dampening thrusters kicks in.

Another ion-storm. Heavens, that can’t be true. Not now!

I guess I must have lost all my color, as Necheyev shoots me a worried glance. “Professor? It’s just another small ion-storm approaching. Nothing too serious – at least according to the forewarning system.”

“I am a landlubber,” I manage to say. “I think I will never get used to ion-storms.”

Reaching over the table, she places her hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. It’s a small one. As long as you stay on board the station you are safe.”

Staying on board… well, that is exactly what Joseph was definitely not doing in the last hour and a half.

_"Hayes to Nechayev."_

With a sigh Nechayev retracts her hand and taps her comm badge. "Nechayev here."

_"What the hell are you thinking? Beaming during an upcoming ion storm!"_

Nechayev furrows her brow. "Hayes, what are you talking about? I'm in the cafeteria."

Darn! This idiot! He had taken the risk and used the transporter.

Despite all my efforts to be angry at Joseph, sickening worry outweighs them and creeps into my bones; settles there with a heavy weight. It’s not that his cover, our cover, is about to blow up.

Joseph might be dead.

Apparently Hayes hadn’t expected Nechayev’s answer as it takes a few moments before he replies slowly. _"Confirm Admiral. You didn’t beam from the Magellan to the station three minutes ago?"_

“ _Magellan_?” Sitting upright in her chair Nechayev appears highly alarmed. "No. Are you sure that there was a transport from the _Magellan_?"

_"It could have been a false reading due to the interference of the upcoming storm. There were some material transports to other vessels. We are going to check that. Stand by."_

"Acknowledged."

The cafeteria's doors open and a bunch of Starfleet officers spill into the room, jovially talking with each other; in the midst of them Joseph, outwardly calm and relaxed as he speaks to the man beside him. Separating himself from the group he strolls with a broad smile in my direction, appearing as if innocence is his second name and the universe has never been finer.

But I know him the better. Something is totally wrong. The look in his eyes sweeps away any rush of relief which I had felt on seeing him.

“Sorry to be so late, darling. I totally forgot the time,” he says with a forced smile, his eyes looking at me with an apologetic expression.

I neither have time to ponder the ‘darling’ or his look, before I find myself in a gentle embrace with his one hand on the back of my head and the other on my hip. For a second warm lips meet mine, soft and tender.

My brain needs some time to process the input that Joseph is kissing me.

I stop breathing. And thinking.

As he pulls away slowly I feel something hard pressed into the palm of my hand. A few brain functions start working again. The chip! What the hell?

“Hide it. Fast. Not on your body,” he whispers breathlessly; the tone in his voice is haunted.

My blood rushes in my ears and certainly also into my cheeks. Holy Pi. What am I going to do now? Think Margaret, think!

I am painfully aware of Nechayev's amused grin on us.

Couple.

He pretends that we are a couple...

"It's alright … hun," I say loud so that Nechayev can hear us, while I desperately seek for possibilities on how to proceed. "The admiral and I had a nice time with our coffee and cake."

That’s it.

Cake! The chip. Hiding it not on my body.

Detangling myself from Joseph's hug and trying to force my voice to be calm, I smile at him. "Want a cake and coffee too?"

"That would be nice, Gretchen. Thank you."

Taking a deep breath I walk slowly the few steps to the buffet and with my back turned to the others I reach for a plate with a huge piece of black forest cake covered all over with cream. With trembling fingers I squeeze the chip into the cake’s soft interior.

Joseph had said not on my body - he hadn’t specified where.

_"Hayes to Nechayev."_

Hayes’ voice lets me freeze and I’m sure that I’ve paled a few degrees more. Closing my eyes, I try to steady myself at the table, which is not only due to the station’s permanent vibrations. It’s good that Nechayev can’t see my nervousness now.

“Nechayev here.” Nechayev’s voice is strained.

_"The transport is confirmed; it seems to have been masked with your signature.”_

“Can it still be a false reading due to the ion-storms interferences?”

_“Positive. However there is additional evidence that someone has accessed data with *my* command codes on the Magellan. No other internal or external transports have occurred meanwhile. If the data are correct then whoever has done it is still within the station.”_

Cursing inwardly about what I have heard, I slowly turn around to assess the situation. Joseph appears still to be calm, but from the short glance he shoots me it’s apparent that he is worried too. How the hell did they find out about the data-transfer?

Nechayev’s features have become dark. “I will initiate the examination procedure on the station.”

_“Acknowledged. I will initiate the procedure on the periphery and join you immediately. Hayes out.”_

Without giving us a further look, she stands up from her chair and taps her comm badge again. “Nechayev to security.”

_“Wang here.”_

"Lieutenant, there might have been an unauthorized transport from the _Magellan_ to the station as well as an unauthorized download. Initiate security protocol Epsilon-Omega. I want everyone systematically searched for a chip or another storage device containing suspicious data material."

_"Confirmed, Admiral. But since the ion storm's interferences are going also to interfere with the usual scanner readings, I strongly suggest an additional body search as well. According to the forewarning system the storm is fortunately low leveled, but huge and is not likely to end within the next ten hours."_

"Understand. I take that the new scanning system is not operational yet?”

_"No, the internal sensors are still incompatible with the new system. At best we can use mobile scanning devices on non-living material. Tricorder readings are currently more than unreliable."_

“Do this. I want every inch of this station scanned as fast as possible.”

_“Aye Admiral.”_

“Nechayev out.” She fixes us with a stern look. “Well, Captain, Professor. Seems like we are going to be stuck here for a while until the station is cleared. I assume you have taken care of the material I gave you.”

Joseph raises his eyebrows. “Of course we have, Admiral.”

What he doesn’t add is the fact that the more or less illegal device Nechayev has given us in the beginning of our investigations to hide her data from the rest of Starfleet also safely hides our data from her. It’s unlikely that usual scanning devices – and even the new ones which Starfleet is currently working on to overcome the interference from the ion storms – would find it.

What leaves us with the data chip from the _Magellan_ …

I swallow. Every inch of the station. This would also include a buffet, wouldn’t it?

It costs me a lot effort to not look towards the piece of black forest cake lying creamy and delicious on the table. Cream is not likely to mask any chip from any scanner.

Consequently we are in trouble. In big trouble. My heart starts racing again, cold sweat breaks out of the palms of my hand.

Joseph still appears to be calm, a small smile plays on the edge of his lips. “Well, Margaret. Since we will have to wait for some time, I’d like to take you up on your offer of coffee and cake. Anything to recommend to me?”

I’m sure he is aware of the chip’s current whereabouts somewhere in the cakes. “Ummm. There is cheese cake, Sacher torte… black forest cake...”

He raises his eyebrows. “Is the last one crispy?”

Unsure what he intends to do, I give him a weak smile. “Usually not.”

“Well, then black forest cake it is.”

Taking the plate with the cake into my shaky hands I slowly return to Nechayev’s and mine table and take the seat beside Joseph.

Nechayev eyes us closely. “Well, Captain, Professor. Duty is calling. I’m going to join the security teams.”

We both nod and watch her in silence walk to the cafeteria’s exit where a few security officers have shown up. The chattering in the room hasn’t ebbed down yet - people are still not aware that a huge security screening will swap over them soon.

Clenching my jaw, my eyes follow the security officers which take their place at the cafeteria entrance to stand guard, before I face my companion again. “Joseph, what has gone wrong? Are you alright?”

He casts a cautious glance around us and then reaches for his fork. “I’m fine. But something went wrong when I downloaded the data.”

“What?”

For a short moment he hesitates, then lays his fork again on the table. “I’m sure I used the procedure you had worked out correctly.”

I nod – we had exercised it long enough and he barely made mistakes. “Then what was the problem?”

“I fear I stumbled into a subroutine trap which hadn’t been there when I last checked the security details. They were prepared.”

Goosebumps roll over my body, my voice is hoarse. “Prepared?”

“I think they expected someone to intrude on their system.” He gives me a long look. “This would also explain the edgy behavior of the security lately and also their extreme efforts to get an alternative scanning system working as fast as possible.”

“Darn,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yes.”

Every energy leaves my body. Tiredly and deflated I lean back into my chair. “Now what are we going to do? We are trapped with this chip in the room and they are going to use the new mobile scanning device on non-living objects.”

“Well, we still have options. They only can confiscate those data devices they find, so we have to make sure that they don’t find it. The ion-storm will last a few hours and the limited scanning resources might be of our advantage.”

“How?”

He gives me a weak smile. “The chip is in here?”

“Yes.”

Taking his fork again he pokes around in the cake until the chip appears. “Well, Margaret, being a Starfleet officer I also know the protocols as well as the limits and weaknesses of the system.”

To my utter horror he lifts the chip on his fork and puts it into his mouth. Then swallows. Coughs. Reaches for the coffee cup and knocks back the whole content. Coughs again. And then grins broadly.

He is spared an answer as suddenly another security group arrives in the cafeteria. The next hour we are all interrogated and a few officers in protective suits scan the room with a huge portable scanning device. All persons within the room are carefully motioned out of its way since the device’s radiation is not safe for living organic material.

Meanwhile the surrounding decks on the station which include our quarters have been searched and declared as clear and we are allowed to move freely in these areas after we have been scanned as well. In a long row we queue in the direction of the security officers who inspect the cafeteria’s visitors one by one with a tricorder as well as by a traditional body examination.

"So what now?" I whisper as I lean towards Joseph. Even to me the fear is apparent in my voice. My knees are weak.

Joseph’s hand wraps around mine as we approach the security guards and I cling to it like to a life line.

He draws me nearer and pretends to kiss me on my cheek. “It’s fine Margaret,” he whispers back, his breath brushing my ear earlobe. “The ion-storm’s interference disturbs any tricorder so much that they won’t be able to fully penetrate organic material and give reliable data.”

Organic material.

Like a stomach.

Feeling calmer again, I wait for my turn to be searched. Time passes agonizingly slowly and with gradually increasing nervousness I witness the confiscation of chips and PADDs.

It’s on me to be inspected first from the two of us.

While the male officer starts scanning my body, the female officer examines my body the old fashioned way. I endure it with a forced smile on my face, anxious what happens next with Joseph. After what seems like an eternity they are a finished. "Clear. Next one."

“Thanks,” I murmur and step away hesitantly to wait for my comrade, my heart hammering in my throat. Time stretches like a rubber band as I watch with bated breath the security guards examining Joseph’s body.

Eventually the officer with the scanner nods. “Clear. Next one.”

I don’t believe it – he has passed. I swear my heart skips a beat. Holy Pi. This crazy man has done it again.

Without a further word and a grin on his lips, Joseph leaves the security area and wraps his arm around my waist. In silence we walk the abandoned corridors, the adrenaline’s impact only slowly starting to recede from my trembling body.

As we enter Joseph’s quarters, he grabs me lightly on my shoulder and turns me around to him. “Hey. Margaret...," he asks with a voice full of concern. "Are you alright?"

My heart still pounds wildly in my chest. Heavens, I'm not made for such things. Running with trembling fingers through my hair I meet his glance and surprise myself by how shaky my own voice is. “I ... I was really worried about you, Joseph.”

Something in the depths of his eyes changes, darkens and brightens at the same time. It's like a door opens to a room full of pain, a world of hurt emotions which lay on the route to his bright soul.

"I know you were worried," he says quietly and moving his hand from my shoulder slowly over my cheek, he strokes a strain of hair out of my face, before he pulls me in a gentle embrace. My head comes to lie on his chest. “I know you were,” he repeats into my hair, his voice full of emotion.

Nechayev’s words swirl in my mind, whirl in my guts. _It’s been a long time since he has allowed someone to come that near._ Maybe it’s also a long time since anyone has cared about him. Choking back my own tears I swallow hard, unable to speak. Instead I wrap my arms around his waist, draw him nearer to me to give him the little comfort I can offer.

Softly I stroke his back, wait until his rapid heartbeat steadies and my nerves calm again. Two lone wolfs admittedly don't make a pack, but they can lick each other's wounds and take care of each other’s vulnerable spots. Together they are stronger than the mere sum of each one of them. They are a team.

So are we.

“I’m glad you are back safely, you clever crazy man,” I finally manage to say and while cautiously breaking our embrace, I lift my head, unable to suppress a grin stealing itself on my face. “Now we only have to wait until we can fully access the data.”

Shaking his head, Joseph starts laughing with a sheepish expression. “Umm, yes. That might take a while.”

“Well, if you need assistance with massaging your tummy, just tell me. I raised two children and know how to accelerate things a bit." And I can't resist adding. "I hope you are already potty-trained.”

Putting his hands on his hips he presses his lips together to suppress a laugh, but he fails miserably. His guffaws are balm to my soul. "Margaret Janeway!"

My own laughter joins his.

It has been a very long time since I felt so free.


	5. Insights

**43 days later**

Day 107 (2055 hours)

I am too slow to prevent the coffee cup from slithering off the desk and spilling its contents all over the floor. At least the coffee was cold already.

Sighing, I lean back into my chair, the data on the viewscreen merging into one single blur. The truth is - I wouldn't have reacted in time to the ion-storm's vibrations. Not with sleep deprivation and exhaustion being my constant companions.

Thin streams of coffee work their way over the ground. There is no sense in mopping it up before the ion-storm is finished; certainly other things will add to the mess. Whether I want it or not, those ion-storms definitely teach patience.

I heave myself out of my seat when the station is steady again and grab the nearest cloth to use as a rag. The coffee soaks fast into the cotton, turning the shirt into a brownish mess.

If only all my problems would solve themselves as easily as this.

Admittedly, thanks to my talk with Nechayev I'd learned the essentials of hers and thus Starfleet's knowledge on the Borg-algorithms, but despite this, Joseph and I had encountered severe problems with the videotape’s encryption. I didn't dare to approach her once more and ask her for additional details - details which would have given away what I was working on. Nor was there any possibility of questioning her on this matter at a random meeting, since Nechayev seemed to avoid us whenever possible. The PADDs with the reports became rarer until they have finally stopped and Joseph suspects that this correlates with the fact that we are receiving increased attention from the Andorian and the Bajoran scientists, which was another reason to not contact Nechayev again.

There’s something cooking, that’s for sure – the only question was what exactly was seething around us and how it concerned our undercover mission.

In any case there was no way around - I was forced to work on the algorithms to crack the simulation’s encrypted videotapes myself and without further help. In the end – and only with Hayes’ unintended help - it took me more than a month to finally find a way to bypass the algorithms’ main security points and almost a week to convert _Voyager_ ’s raw data into a viewable format.

Nevertheless, in these past six weeks we've lost precious time, which hurt all the more since the official investigation unit didn’t make any progress in their research either.

Not that this is a surprise to us.

Starfleet's stringent adherence to the misleading path they chose in the beginning now shows its bitter consequence as the simulation was never intended to have its victims removed. The best the investigation unit came up with so far was a heavily limping subroutine. Basically it was nothing but the reversed routine of the simulation's implementation subroutine. Due to its instability it isn't even on testing level yet.

The situation was and still is frustrating, all the more as each of our attempts to suggest an alternative approach are immediately nipped in the bud. Luckily Joseph and I are not the only ones within the team who are sure that the reversed procedure strategy simply won't work, but our opinions go unheard with the decision makers.

In one of those nerve-wracking team-briefings, where we all got a slating because of our lack in progress, I tried to explain to Hayes for the umpteenth time that the way IN isn’t necessarily the same as the way OUT and it is sometimes impossible to use a reverse procedure.

Maybe it was the use of the analogy of how children get into and eventually out of an uterus and that those procedures are not only different, but also totally useless in their reversed form when trying to conceive or give birth. Well, it could also have been the tone of my voice which I used on my own children when they were about four years old - in any case it got me a suspension from duty for three days, most probably to give me the chance to think about my behavior.

I would have pitched a fit at the incredible hubris surrounding us, if it hadn’t been for our own, secret ‘tiny’ project plus Joseph's reasoning that it is very unusual for Starfleet to wear such tremendous blinders and that he suspects something behind this way of behaving. Indeed I thought a lot in these three days, but not about my behavior. I used the unexpected spare time to crack the encryption algorithm.

Thanks to Hayes’ additional time, I had a first break-through a few days ago. The videotape’s encryption finally succumbed to my program and revealed my daughter’s life within the simulation, but although I'd dedicated almost every second of my spare time to getting the videos to work, nothing could have prepared me for the moment when Kathryn’s face flickered for the first time over the viewscreen before me. Walking, talking and drinking coffee while studying maps or her orders to capture a dangerous Maquis captain.

In fact, nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming feeling of sadness and joy, for the crushing emotion of finally seeing her. Although I knew better, a small part of me still had indulged in the hope that the simulation wasn't real, wasn't happening.

I mourned for my daughter for the second time in my life.

Joseph stayed with me until sleep and exhaustion overpowered me. He understood without being told, offered me his shoulder until the last tear was cried. This closeness could have been weird considering the recent event in the cafeteria, but it wasn't. In fact it had never been weird - on the contrary, it brought us even nearer in a quiet, strong way and we both ignore the scuttlebutt, which seems to follow us wherever we are. To us it doesn’t matter. We both know what and why things happened and we both know our priorities.

Besides Kathryn’s life, the videotapes revealed something else: the time track’s start and stop patterns. We learned, from comparing them to the stolen data from the _Magellan_ , that they are unique to the _Voyager_ simulation. We also believe that they are indeed starting and ending points of time loops. Now, without new data, all that remains for me to do is tinker with the stolen fragments from _Voyager_ and the _Magellan_ , looking for new patterns.

Another open issue is still to find something revealing about Kathryn's and Chakotay's command relationship which would not only underpin Nechayev's hunch, but maybe also give us a hint how to proceed further with the simulation. This issue is Joseph’s mission - he is the one of our team who could assess a command relationship properly.

Despite our exhaustion we work each minute we can spare.

Heavens, I am so tired.

_"Amasov to Janeway."_

Tearing my thoughts with difficulty away from my brooding, I tap my comm badge. "Yes, Joseph?"

_"I think I have found something interesting. May I come over to your quarters?"_

I stand up straight at his words, adrenaline shooting through my veins and instantly displacing any tiredness. "Holy Pi, of course!"

Joseph enters my quarters with excitement vibrating from him. "Nechayev might be right, Margaret. From the little I saw so far Chakotay and Kathryn are an interesting combination. It's apparent that their connection is unusual."

I feel almost disappointed at this announcement. What had I expected? Something cataclysmic? "Joseph. They have been thrown 75000 light years into the Delta Quadrant as enemies and are now working together. They are bound to have an unusual connection."

He shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. I have been both, first officer and captain, in my career. I know of what a good command team’s relationship is made of and how it looks like. But Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s command relationship is … exceptional." Amasov gives me long look. "Let me explain, Margaret. These two are technically speaking two captains, although Chakotay still is in the rank of a commander. Certainly they both are aware that if he'd remained in Starfleet he would most likely be a captain by now and consequently outrank Kathryn because of the fact that he is the more senior officer. Above all he is more experienced with combat situations than Kathryn is. But he'd agreed to step back and serve under her."

Sighing, I lean back in my chair. "Maybe because it's her ship?"

Joseph crosses his arms before his chest. "Don’t be silly. Theoretically he could have simply overtaken _Voyager_ with his battle-trained and experienced crew. Don't take me wrong, Margaret, Kathryn's crew are fine officers and are well trained, but they have been cobbled together only recently. They haven't had much opportunity to get to know each other on an intuitive level like a crew does who is already working together for years."

"So the question is then why he didn't take over her ship."

"Yes. And I think I know part of the answer."

I look at him expectantly.

Instead of an answer Joseph takes the chip he has been working on the last days and inserts it into my console. "I finally found the passage which shows how they decided who is going to be in command and why they chose it to be a Starfleet crew. Unfortunately we don't have the _Val Jean_ 's data, so we can only rely on the snippet which concerns Kathryn. Anyway, I think it is more than insightful into the dynamic between those two."

Activating the videotape, Joseph takes a step back so that my view of the screen is unhindered, revealing Kathryn sitting at a desk and working on a console in what appears to be her quarters. She is in uniform, her face is pale, she looks tired, unsettled. Chakotay’s face flickers on the screen of her own console. It appears that she is studying his file.

Although it was clear that I would see her, I am again unprepared for the hurt which claws itself into my gut. Unable to prevent my heart painfully clenching at the sight, I touch the screen with trembling fingers and brush along the frame of her figure. My child. It has been such a long time.

Heavens, I miss her so much.

The door chime within the simulation rings, startling me and Kathryn almost at the same time. Retracting my hand from the screen I watch my daughter pass through an amazing transformation. The exhaustion in her feature disappears, is exchanged with an aura of confidence. I've seen it many times on Edward, but it scares the hell out of me to witness the captain's mask for the first time on my daughter.

With a determined expression on her face she pushes the console which goes instantly black. _"Come in."_

Two security officers with their phasers drawn accompany Chakotay into the room and the small group comes to a halt before her desk. Kathryn rises from her seat.

_"Thank you, gentlemen. Dismissed."_

The Vulcan officer lifts his eyebrow. _"Captain? I strongly advise-"_

 _"Commander Chakotay and I have to talk. Alone. I want you to wait outside my quarters, Tuvok. Dismissed."_ The tone of her voice doesn't leave any room for further arguments.

The two officers exit the room and leave Kathryn and Chakotay alone, the desk between them like a symbol of the barrier between them. Both eye each other with a calculating look.

Kathryn eventually speaks again. _"We need to talk, Commander."_

Chakotay laughs harshly. _"Fine, Captain. Then let’s talk. How about … “_ He shoots her a provoking look. _“Will you keep us in the brig for the whole journey? Or, do you intend to maroon us on a forsaken planet?"_

Kathryn presses her lips together. _"No, Commander. Neither of those. We have to talk about how we are going to survive here. Whether we want to be or not – we are stuck together in this."_ She straightens her shoulders. _"I need to talk to you openly. No ranks. No games."_

Chakotay crosses his arms over his chest with an amused expression. _"Starfleet and no games. That would be a first time then. *Captain*."_

They stare long seconds at each other.

Something in Kathryn's features changes - I know my daughter when she has come to a decision.

Slowly she extracts herself from her uniform jacket and lays it together with her comm badge on the desk. Faint clicks accompany each pip as it makes contact with the hard surface. She never breaks eye contact with him.

"Kathryn is removing her insignia," I whisper surprised.

Joseph nods. "Yes. She is removing the things which distinguish them. And look-" He points at the screen where Kathryn puts also her phaser on the desk, while Chakotay's eyes widen in astonishment. "-she even gives away her defense. He could easily overtake her now."

"Why on earth is she doing this?"

"She needs him to trust her as fast as possible, but she risks a lot in doing it. Of all the choices she could have made in her situation, she settles on cooperation and collaboration. Chakotay is no idiot – he certainly understands what she is trying to accomplish. Interestingly enough, I think if the situation were reversed he would have settled for something similar."

Chakotay doesn't move, nor does Kathryn; they simply continue staring at each other.

Time passes slowly; even for me the tension is almost palpable. I find myself holding my breath.

Finally Chakotay too removes his jacket in a slow movement and lays it beside Kathryn's stuff on the desk. He doesn't even cast a glance at the phaser.

 _"Alright,"_ he says with an angry undertone, _"Let’s talk."_

Her jaw clenches a little, but she remains calm. _“We have two options. Either we stay in the Delta Quadrant or we travel towards home."_

_"Staying in this area of the Delta Quadrant is not an option."_

_"Yes. Therefore we will have to travel. And we have to do it together. Voyager's crew has suffered too many casualties - we won't be able to do it alone. Not for long. And not with the Kazons on our backs,"_ she answers, stating the facts as if it was a damage report from engineering.

Putting his hands on the desk between them, he leans forward to her. _"And you think you are able to be a captain for the next *seventy* years?"_

She doesn’t even flinch a millimeter.

 _"Either I am or you are."_ Kathryn's voice is hoarse. _"One of us has to do it or we have already lost in this damn quadrant."_

Silence descends again between the two of them.

My soul hurts for the lot my daughter has drawn. I swallow hard. Joseph lays his arm on mine, his comforting touch sending warmth again through my pain-frozen body. I send him a thankful smile, before my attention turns back to the screen.

Meanwhile Chakotay has straightened himself. Somehow the atmosphere between them has changed. The aggression is gone, leaving just two weary people with a heavy burden behind.

 _"Your crew won't accept me and you know it,"_ he says quietly.

Kathryn closes her eyes and pinches her nose, before she views up to him again. She looks so tired. _"I know. And my crew is larger in numbers than yours."_

_"So this leaves only you to captain this ship."_

Kathryn merely nods. I have never seen her like this. Her expression ... as if she is accepting her own doom with open eyes.

 _"We have no possibilities to ask for a replacement if things get too exhausting. It will consume every bit of your life.”_ His voice is almost soft. _“You surely know that."_

 _"I have no alternative…”_ She runs her hand through her hair and sighs. _“And without your support I probably won’t be able to do it."_

Chakotay holds her look with a weary countenance. _"So I will have to step back and take the first officer position then."_

She bites her lips. _"I don't see much alternative there either. Do you?"_

Rubbing his face with a pained expression, Chakotay remains silent.

Kathryn turns around and walks to the window - evidently without caring if he takes the phaser of her table or not. Her voice is clouded with bitterness. _"At least you will have the opportunity to get in touch with the crew and have something resembling a life."_

He stares at her back long before he answers. _"You think you have the strength to get through it?"_

 _“I must,"_ she replies. Turning around she meets his eyes. _"I must, Chakotay. I made this decision and stranded us in the Delta Quadrant in uncharted territory. It's on me to take the responsibility."_

He waves his hand in determination. _"It was the only reasonable decision."_

 _"Not everyone thinks like that."_ She swallows and massages her temples, before she fixes him with a severe look in her face. _"I should have said that before, but thank you for saving our collective asses, Chakotay, and your support on the bridge. It must have been difficult to sacrifice your ship and then even back up the captain of the vessel which was sent to imprison you."_

He snorts. _"I guess I should say: You’re welcome. But I haven’t had much choice there either. I can’t fight against the wronging of the Cardassians and airlock at the same time my principles when it comes to the Kazon and the Ocampa. I usually stick to my beliefs."_

Again, they both remain silent for a few moments.

 _“I know. Me, too.”_ She pauses. _“We will need to set the principles with which we are going to command this ship and... our crew.”_

 _“I assume you are going to suggest this be a Starfleet vessel?”_ he asks with exhaustion tinging his words.

The uncomfortable look on Kathryn's face tells it all; her voice is husky when she finally asks, _“Will the Maquis accept it?”_

Holding her gaze with sad eyes Chakotay takes a deep breath. _“They have to. There is not much choice for any of us.”_

_“How about you? Will you accept it?”_

With his lips pressed together, he hesitantly nods. _"Yes, I will. But I warn you - I'm not going to be easy and accept any decision you make without questioning it."_

 _"I rely on that,"_ she answers with a faint smile full of sorrow and takes a few steps in his direction. _“I won’t be easy either. The whole thing won’t be easy.”_

He laughs. _“No, it won’t.”_

_“I'll arrange for Commander Cavit's quarters to be emptied as soon as possible. They are directly beside mine if that is convenient for you."_

_"It is,”_ he sighs. _“I need to inform my crew about our … arrangement."_

_"I appreciate that. Thank you."_

Reaching for his jacket on the desk, he turns around with a short nod and walks to the room's exit.

_"Chakotay?"_

He stops without looking back. _"Yes."_

 _"I...”_ She closes her eyes for a short moment before she straightens her shoulders and continues. _“I have been a guest of the Cardassians myself."_

I gasp at her confession. It must have cost Kathryn a lot to admit this; she has never talked to me about her experience or to anyone close to her.

Chakotay's hands clench to fists and he slowly turns around. The expression I witness in his eyes bores even into my soul although we are separated in time and space. I can't imagine what it means to Kathryn in this moment. His look is filled with a mixture of such immense pain that pierces into bones and marrow. But it is also filled with respect and understanding. Above all he looks like a man who'd found the missing puzzle piece.

The gaze they share sends goose bumps all over my body.

 _"Good night… Captain,"_ he says quietly and leaves the room.

Kathryn stares on the place where he has stood long after the doors have hissed shut behind him. With apparent great effort she walks back to her desk and her fingers tremble as she touches her pips to set them back on place.

Joseph reaches for the terminal and the view screen goes instantly black. “You know now what I mean Margaret?”

Taking a deep breath I tear my eyes from the screen. “I take it that you have evaluated other scenes already?”

“Yes.”

“And this …” I point to the view screen, but I fail to put it in words what I have witnessed. “… carries on?”

Joseph steps in. “You mean this astonishingly deep and calm mutual understanding despite the incredible circumstances they are in?”

I nod.

“Well, Margaret, this scene is no exception – it continues. Not that Kathryn and Chakotay lack disagreements, but all in all they almost immediately act as if they have worked together already for years. Things between the command team, but also the merging of the two crews, develop surprisingly smoothly considering the situation.”

I meet Joseph's sparkling eyes. "Too smoothly?"

With crossed arms he leans with his hip against the desk. "Well, I think exceptionally smoothly. Alynna's hunch might indeed directly hit the bull's eye. Kathryn and Chakotay make an extraordinary team and in my opinion this must have an influence on how the simulation proceeds with them."

"What do you suggest shall we do next?"

"There aren’t many options at the moment other than to continue our work. We need a bigger picture before we can start thinking about an alternative strategy and how to nag the admirals to change their line of thinking."

I sigh tiredly. "Why do I hate hearing that?"

Joseph eyes me wearily before he pushes himself from the desk and lays his hands on my shoulders.

"Step by step, Margaret. We will get them out of this lunacy. But it needs one step at a time."

With another sigh, I close my eyes. That's not what I wanted to hear, not now, not at any time during the last month. Patience was never my strength, but it is Joseph's.

And unfortunately, as I must admit, like so many times the last months he is most probably right.

 

=^=

 

**12 days later**

Day 119 (1355 hours)

 

“There, Margaret. Here you have your reason why we were kept in the dark and everything is anonymous. Or do you think people would be happy to hear that improvements of deep space missions and tactics are based on experiments like this?” Joseph shouts, no, he almost screams and tosses a data chip with full force on my desk. “Indeed – it is really better to keep the victims anonymous and leave the _Voyager_ crew declared dead as they have been for the last years.”

Never have I seen him so upset. Gone is the calm man I am used to. My guts clench. “What happened Joseph?”

“You ask what hap-?” His voice fails and biting his lips he turns his face away from me.

My mouth has suddenly gone dry. Slowly I pick up the chip and turn it between my fingers, part of me not wanting to know what horrors are hidden in there.

“Borg.” Joseph finally murmurs.

A chill runs along my spine and I meet his eyes in disbelief. “Borg?”

“Kathryn… She-” He takes a deep breath. “She and two of her crew let themselves to be assimilated in order to infect the Borg with a virus that would help to maintain a resistance group within the collective.”

Every muscle in my body freezes. “She survived an … assimilation?”

“Yes.”

My knees almost give away and I stare at him for a long time as all the horrors I’ve ever heard of the Borg surge in my mind. When I finally find the strength to speak again, my own voice is barely recognizable to me. It’s more like a croak. “Show me, Joseph.”

“Are you sure, Margaret?”

I swallow hard. “I … I need to know what happened to her, Joseph. I really. Need. To know.”

He nods and with a face pale as chalk, he extracts the chip out of my fingers and inserts it into the console.

The next minutes - or are it hours? - are imprinted forever in my soul. It’s like my consciousness has been ripped of my body. As if I am a stranger, I watch myself from the outside standing beside Joseph and staring at the console’s view screen where Kathryn and two other members of her crew are penetrated, slashed, stuffed with cybernetic implants.

A disembodied feeling spreads through my veins while my daughter’s body is harmed, intruded upon violated. Her cries seep over time and space into my quarters. In my mouth I taste the blood bleeding from her tortured figure.

Never have I been more aware of the simulation’s brutal unreality which dictates my child’s reality.

The tears running down my cheeks are hot although my insides have turned cold.

Ice cold.

The only warmth left in the room is Joseph’s trembling body backing up my own shivering one. It must almost tear him apart what he now witnesses for the second time on this day, but nevertheless he stays.

Something within me shatters, dies away. It's nothing spectacular. More like a slow fading of one branch of the tree which is my soul. From where I draw the strength to carry on watching the scenes unfolding before me is beyond my understanding.

But I do it.

Do it, without caring how tired I am going to be the next morning, without caring how much of me would die while I follow what Kathryn experiences and what horrors my daughter is facing.

I watch the simulation’s videotape until Kathryn is safe back in her own ship where her body's wounds are treated and she is finally put into an artificial coma; watch how Chakotay enters the room repeatedly with a body full of tension and sorrow written all over his face. Watch how he silently weeps in one unattended moment beside her bed and reaches with a hesitant movement for her hand.

Only then I am able stop the records when I know she is safe, although it was clear beforehand that Kathryn would survive, despite my knowledge that for Kathryn this incident must have been long time ago. Now that I have seen it with my own eyes that she'd safely returned to her ship and to people who apparently deeply care about her, I am able to let go.

"This-" Taking a deep breath, I tear my eyes from the view screen and focus on Joseph's sickly pale face. "is nothing new to you, isn't it?"

"No," he says, barely audible.

"Wolf 359."

"Yes."

 _Starfleet assumes that a lot more happened than what is listed in the records._ So something like that is obviously part of what hasn't found its way into the logs.

With my heart aching I bite into my lips, the sudden physical hurt a welcoming ground to the hurt in my heart. It is one thing to follow an assimilation on the view screen with the knowledge that it turns out well because my daughter is still alive and can't have died in there, or, witnessing it directly with the knowledge that soon one most probably faces the same fate ...

Joseph shifts besides me. "Margaret. The galaxy class ships at Wolf 359 had civilians on board. Children," he says and continues after a long pause which I don't dare to interrupt. It is obvious that he rarely talks about it. "The Borg left abruptly and resumed their course for earth without finishing their ... assimilation business. We picked up the … survivors." He swallows hard. "At times the only help we could offer the victims was to ensure a quick and painless death."

There is nothing to add or say which is adequate except the poignant silence in the room. Taking a few steps towards the only comforting place left in this world of insanity, I embrace his slightly trembling body, and as he wraps his own warm arms around me, I understand that he isn't able to grieve for himself yet.

He still grieves for the others, their lot and what he was forced to order and execute.

The silent tears pouring out of my face are for us both. For Kathryn and her crew. For the thousands other people from Wolf 359 who didn't make it home. And for the part of Joseph's soul which is still restlessly searching for peace in a distant star system.

 

=^=

**A few hours later**

Day 120 (0415 hours)

 

A soul-tearing cry rips up the night.

Jolting upright in bed I screen my quarters, my ragged breathing and heart’s pounding in my ears the only sound audible against the continuous silent humming of the station. The thick dark of space presses against the windows; only the weak lights of the few active vessels docking at the station dare to intrude the room.

Everything appears to be normal.

Yet the scream certainly wasn’t part of a dream, was it? I don’t recall dreaming. Shrugging off the blanket with trembling fingers, I walk weak-kneed to the replicator and order a glass of water, the cooling liquid a welcome soothing for my churned up nerves. Maybe the last month’s unrelenting pressure was simply too much.

A second scream of agony almost freezes my blood and the glass of water slides out of my fingers, shattering into pieces as it touches the floor.

Joseph. Holy Pi! Why didn’t I think of him immediately, especially after today’s events? Darn!

“Computer lights to one hundred percent.” Carefully avoiding the glass splinters on the ground I head as fast as possible towards the bathroom. What horrors must someone relive in his nightmares to end up screaming like this?

Anxious for what I’m about to see I enter the dark of his quarters and hurry to the strangely distorted whimpering figure on the bed which bears no resemblance to the strong and confident man I’m familiar with. Sweat and fear linger in the air. Joseph’s shirt sticking to his body reveals a muscular and well-shaped torso.

He moans in desperation, tears running down his cheeks, his eyes fixed on a spot far away in his past. “No!”

My heart clenches at this sight. Hesitantly touching his shoulder and squeezing him, I try to wake him up. “Joseph.”

“No! Don’t!” He raises his arms as if to shield his head from an invisible attacker.

Grabbing him tightly with both hands on his shoulders to stir him up, I shout at him. “Joseph!”

“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!” He suddenly starts flailing around - and too slow to avoid a frantically rotating arm - he hits my jaw unbridled, the blow’s force sending me stumbling backward. Pain shoots into my body like a lightning and while small bright spots blur my vision, my skin immediately starts swelling.

“DAMN!” I curse.

This calls for more drastic measurements, that’s for sure. But how to wake up a combat-trained Starfleet officer in midst of a Borg-nightmare without risking my own life? My eyes, misty from the pain, dart to the coffee table nearby and the half-filled water pot on it. Well, why not? Worst case I have to deal with a dripping wet and combat-trained nightmare-struggling captain afterward.

Grabbing the pot I aim at his face, watching in fascination as the water splashes on Joseph’s craggy features and causes him to abruptly halt his movements. The expression on his face changes from anguish to vague recognition as his eyes struggle to focus on me. With a voice hoarse from yelling he whispers short-breathed, “Margaret?”

“Yes.” Sitting on the side of his bed, I cautiously wrap my arms around his shaking body and draw him near to me, cradling him almost like a small child. Heavens, what must he have gone through? “Everything is alright, Joseph. You are safe. No one is going to harm you.”

Quiet sobs escape him and holding him even tighter in my embrace, I stroke his back, rocking him gently. “Everything is alright. You are safe.”

Sliding his arms around my waist, he clings to me almost as to a life-line and bursts into a passion of tears, exposing himself in all his vulnerability to me. Unprepared for the wave of warm affection spreading in my heart, tears well up in my eyes. His trust in me is an incredible gift.

Caressing his wet hair, I repeat over and over. “It’s alright, Joseph. You are safe with me. Let it out.”

Time passes. I’m almost ashamed that I start enjoying the feeling of his warm body snuggled to mine while he suffers such agony. Eventually his sobbing ebbs.

Softly disentangling from me and straightening himself, our gazes lock and his eyes – tired, swollen and red from crying - widen in shock when he sees my face.

“Oh god, Margaret!” he pants and runs his fingers cautiously over my swollen jawbone. “I’m … I’m so sorry. I-”

“Shhh.” My fingers on his lips are somehow an odd sight. Odd but yet oddly … alright. “Nothing that a dermal regenerator won’t fix. And you better not come up now with any Starfleet indoctrinated ‘brave and stalwart bullshit’ claiming that you are already perfectly fine. I know better – after all I stem from a long line of Starfleet officers and was married to an admiral. I am familiar with all those shenanigans.”

Strangely enough this seems to have a soothing effect on him and he relaxes with a sigh into my arms again.

“I don’t intend to start having secrets from you now, Margaret,” he mumbles into the crook of my neck, his breath feathering on my skin.

“Thank you,” I murmur in his wet hair and draw him a bit closer. He still trembles slightly.

Or is it me who trembles? Pictures of Kathryn being assimilated swirl in my head – only one amongst many horrors she is facing. No counselor on board. And probably no one to hold and comfort her. The lump in my throat starts hurting.

I have to rescue my child.

“We have to get them out as soon as possible.” Unable to stop the tears running down my face, I bite my lips to not break into helpless weeping and close my eyes. Stirring in my embrace, Joseph’s warm hands suddenly palm my face, his thumb gently stroking the swollen skin over my jawbone.

“Margaret?” Hesitantly opening my eyes, I almost drown in his compassionate look and gulp back a violent sob. His voice is determined. “We will get them out, Margaret. We will.”

I nod. This time it’s him who takes me wordlessly in his arms and comforts me through the world of pain.

Neither of us mentions aloud that to rescue _Voyager_ ’s crew it will require several additional risky cloak-and-dagger missions to obtain the necessary data.

But I guess after today’s events, neither of us cares.


	6. Busted

**13 days later**

Day 133 (0247 hours)

 

My pulse races uncontrollably.

All air is pressed out of my lungs as I sag against the wall of one of _Voyager's_ Jefferies tubes with one hand pressed over my mouth to prevent myself from screaming.

"Margaret, are you alright?" Joseph's haunted whisper barely permeates the frantic blood rushing in my ears.

Of course. I. Am. Bloody Pi. NOT!!! What the hell is he thinking!?!? I bite into my trembling hand until the metallic taste of blood touches my tongue. It's better than panicking or throwing up. It's better than...

_Dead eyes in a deadly pale face. Blood all over Voyager's floor trickling from a long cut in the young ensign's throat._

Closing my eyes, I lean back against the Jefferies tube's wall, desperately trying to force the upwelling memories away.

_A faceless voice. “Have you found Amasov and Janeway, yet?”_

_"No. But they're definitely still on Voyager. We have taken control of all routes back to the station. McMurphy and Padri are trying to track them down."_

_"Good. But remember - no phasers or Starfleet will be alarmed. I want them alive. And get rid of the corpse."_

_“Understood. Thual out.”_

"Margaret?"

Somehow I get a grip on myself and meet Joseph’s controlled features, knowing that he too is on the edge although he hides it behind a mask made out of years of combat experience and self-control. Our second cloak-and-dagger-mission to _Voyager_ definitely has gone wrong. Badly. Even our worst case scenario has been topped – after all we hadn’t expected members of Section 31 lurking on _Voyager_ while we were boarding the ship. It was mere luck that we hadn’t stumbled directly into the intruders but were able to retreat in the last minute into a Jefferies tube nearby. What we had seen and heard, though, had been enough.

My voice is shaky as my legs. "What are we going to do now? He said they'd blocked all ways back to the station.”

Joseph's jaw clenches and he reaches for his tricorder. "Hide. Stay alive as long as possible and hope that Starfleet meanwhile recognizes that they have a bunch of Section 31 agents walking around their corridors and killing off their personnel. At least we know now to whom Dr. Thual and Lt. Padri belong." He takes a deep breath. "We need to change our position continuously. They will have difficulty locating us without our comm badges and our life signs should still be masked for a while, if my skills are still worth what they were. Are you able to move?"

I nod lamely.

"Alright then, Gretchen. Here is the plan.” He presses his lips together and I can’t help but feeling even more uncomfortable at the look in his eyes. “We will take this junction. The tube leads us to another one which leads to a corridor with several control points from where I should be able to beam us back, if the transporter is not disabled, or otherwise send a distress call to the station. You'll wait for me hidden in the tube until I am finished."

Swallowing, I nod again.

"You'll keep the tricorder. If I am caught, I want you to evade any other life signs and keep moving until Starfleet arrives. Do you understand?"

The shadows of doom descend upon my shoulders; my mouth feels painfully dry and bitter at the same time. I hate when he makes plans. Really. "Yes," I whisper.

He gives me a short glance in which I meet the Starfleet officer all over. “Alright then Gretchen. Let’s move.”

We move. As fast as we can. As quiet as we can. Regularly scanning our surroundings. Not daring to speak too loud, not daring to breath too loud.

It seems that luck is on our side this time.

As we finally reach the door to the corridor, Joseph reaches for the tricorder and nods. “No life signs nearby. It should work, if I am fast.”

Pushing with his hand against the doors, they open with a dangerously loud creak. The corridors are, however, far from being empty.

"Shit," Joseph curses silently.

I agree. It's definitely the last view I wanted to see. Dr. Thual's blue grinning Andorian visage and a phaser pointed at us plus a bunch of equally grinning and armed people, who are one hundred percent definitely not Starfleet.

Thual’s grin gets even broader. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

Panic shoots like a lightning through my body and I start trembling.

Without tearing his eyes away from Thual, Joseph reaches for my lower arm, his hand steady and controlled like his voice. "Masked life signs?"

Thual snorts. "Ah, yes. I forgot, Amasov. You think you are the only smart guy around." As Joseph doesn't answer, the Andorian scientist points with his weapon in direction of the corridor. "Are you pouting, Captain? Well, you are going to sing anyway soon. Move your asses."

"Smart as I am, Thual, I am pleased to inform you that firing a phaser might be a bad idea for your purpose." Joseph's voice is still calm. "Or do you intend to alert Starfleet on the station?"

The first puzzled look on Thual's face is soon replaced by an uncomforting smug expression. His supercranial antennae shiver in delight. "I see. You overheard _that_ discussion too. Nice. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you. See-" he points to a phaser tucked on his belt, “ _this_ is a phaser. And indeed, it would be a bad idea to blow your head away with it. At least at the moment." The grin on his face gets worse as he lifts the phaser in his hand a bit higher. "Now, _this_ sweetie here only _looks_ like a phaser and I am pleased to guarantee you that it would blow your head off and Starfleet would never know."

In a fast movement he points with the weapon in his hand above our heads and fires - too fast for me even to scream. Debris falls in huge amounts on our heads. Phasers shouldn't cause that, shouldn't they? They should vaporize stuff away, shouldn't they? I risk a short glance to Joseph and his pale face gives me the answer.

No, they shouldn't.

"Now are you convinced that you’d better move your asses?"

Lamely we descend out of the Jefferies tube. Things have gone indeed horribly wrong.

“Thual to Carstairs.”

_“Carstairs here.”_

“We’ve got them. Shall we keep them on _Voyager_ or beam directly to the _Calypso_?”

_“Excellent. The forewarning probes have announced another set of ion storms within the next fifty minutes. This’ll buy us some time on Voyager since they won’t change the current crew within the next few hours. I want you to beam together with our friends and Padri to the Calypso. The rest of the team should continue on Voyager as discussed.”_

“Understood. Thual out." The Andorian taps his combadge with a smirk. "Alright guys, you heard the boss.”

Joseph's sharp intake at the mentioning of the _Calypso_ doesn't help to lessen my anxiety, but he only subtly shakes his head on my questioning look. Without any comment the men separate silently like a well-oiled machine. I have to give the bunch credit. Even to me it is clear that the team is well-trained.

" _Calypso_ , four to beam over."

An all too familiar tingling on my body almost brings my heart to a stop. While my surroundings blend into another one, I catch a glimpse on Joseph’s expression.

Horribly wrong might be a stellar understatement.

 

=^=

 

“You know this ship?” I stare glumly at the brig’s energy barrier before us. It’s one thing to be taken captive, but it is definitely worse to be kept waiting and not to know what is going to happen to you.

“Apparently it’s the _Calypso_ ,” Joseph says and supports himself with both of his hand against the brigs wall. He looks somehow … crestfallen. “It’s an Oberth class vessel which went missing years ago in a nebula on a science mission. I was part of the search party but we were unable to find the ship. My son never forgave me that I failed to bring him back his fiancée.” He sighs. ”At least we can presume now what has happened to the crew…”

“What’s going to happen to us, Joseph?”

Pushing himself away from the wall, he walks to the brig’s entrance and examines it closely. “I have no idea. It is obvious that they specifically searched for the two of us, but I have no clue why.” Cautiously he skims with his hand along the energy barrier systematically, causing small shimmering sparkles to emit. “Hmmm. This ship might be old, but the force field is still intact and has no obvious flaws.”

With a curse he turns around to me. “Okay Margaret. We need to get out of here as fast as possible. From all what we know we can assume that they were searching exclusively for us. Whatever it is that they want – they took a great risk to get us here. Hell, they even killed off an ensign. Three missing people will raise attention on the station. This only means two things: either they think they are undetectable or they intend to skedaddle before they blow their cover. Anyway, it is certain that they don’t intend to let us go.”

I stare at him, the impact of his words only slowly dawning in me. “They are going to kill us?”

The crystal clear expression in his eyes lacks any self-pity. "Not if I can avoid it. In any case, they have the better cards at the moment. It's highly probable that the ensign's disappearance won't be recognized until the end of the night shift, and we too won't be missed within the next few hours before our own shift. Worse, with the ion storm approaching and the usual chaos it's causing, it's even more-"

A loud noise lets us spin around. Thual and Padri have entered the room with their weapons drawn and directed at us. I shiver at the look on their faces.

Wrapped in an aura of self-complacency, Padri walks to the brig and deactivates the confinement field. He nods towards Joseph. "Amasov."

“Whatever happens, play for time,” Joseph murmurs under his breath, before he exits the brig and then the room in a slow pace.

Leaving me behind.

In the brig of an enemy.

Unable to move an inch or to bring order to the turmoil of my thoughts and feelings, I keep staring at the door through which he has vanished. Time drags on painfully slowly.

Second by second. My vision starts blurring.

After what feels like eternity the swoosh of a door brings me back to reality. This time it is Padri alone who enters the room. With a few fast footsteps the Bajoran reaches the brig and shuts down the force field. "Janeway."

I can only stare at him, incapable of ignoring some dark spots on his sleeve which look too fresh and too red to not be blood. My extremities feel like heavy iron glued to the floor.

Narrowing his eyes, he steps into the brig, his fingers latching around my upper arm like claws. "Move, granny."

Granny? GRANNY? How dare he? This damn traitor who has worked for months on the same project as me and who was incapable of managing even the easiest tasks, calls ME granny? The beast within me lifts his head slowly and starts growling. Some of my deserted spirit returns again.

With a rude push, Padri tries to drag me towards the brig's entrance. More stumbling than walking out of the room and along the _Calypso_ 's corridors, my thoughts start racing. Joseph might be dead by now. I might be dead soon. Time. We need time.

And it’s on me to provide it.

Ballet. It’s the only thing which comes to my mind. I lift my foot to a plié. It definitely wouldn't classify for the most elegant movement ever performed by a dancer, but it does its job and trips Padri up. Tumbling and carrying me along with him to the floor, he falls to his knees with a surprised cry.

"Bloody hell!" he shouts and drags me back to my feet, fury in his eyes. "Don't you dare to do that again or I-"

We both stop mid-movement as the door before us opens up and reveals a slim figure in front of something which looks like a ship's bridge. "Ah, Padri. I should have known that you even have difficulties handling an old lady. Nice to meet you, Professor Janeway. So, now that we are all assembled and we have a lady in our company, we’d better move into my ready room for our tête-à-tête. It’s cosier." The smile on his face makes me feel nauseous.

As he steps aside, I catch a glimpse of a tall and almost sunk down grey haired figure who is scarcely held upright between two people. My heart stops as he lifts his head and the bloody and beaten face is visible.

Only his eyes are still crystal clear, as is the message which lays in them.

No giving up.

 

=^=

 

"It's easy, Professor. You talk and I stop treating your friend here. You continue to stay silent and I continue devoting my attention to him.” The blond man in front of me exposes a row of perfect white teeth. “No? Well then…" He waves his hand; the sign for one of his subordinates to punch Joseph again in the face.

Joseph groans as the fist hits him and it is obvious that he is only still on his legs because two huge bullies have him fixed tightly between them. A few blood droplets add to the bloody pattern on the _Calypso’s_ ready room floor and in the wall next to him. My throat feels too dry to swallow down the huge panicky lump.

Mathew Carstairs’ face brakes into an even broader smile and I can’t help but thinking that he is an attractive man. Someone who you might meet in an exclusive restaurant surrounded by women and drinking the most expensive wine available. Someone trustworthy.

In any case definitely someone who knows what kind of impression he leaves on others. He oozes as much arrogance as the bronze version of an old pre Colombian Mohican fertility god on his desk oozes sex.

In other words, a real bastard.

“Such a pity that you are not talkative, Professor,” he says with his creepy smile. “I’d hate to kill your companion here, but since Padri and Thual informed me that you are the brain of your team and know everything, he is dispensable.”

The only thing what keeps me from screaming in senseless panic is a small, fierce and definitely stupid part which wants to scratch his eyes out of his head. Joseph bites his bleeding lip while his view rests on me with a determined expression which is easy to interpret as some variation of Keep-silent-Gretchen.

Keeping silent is actually not the problem. I simply have no idea how to answer his question without multiplying our disastrous situation to the extreme. A drop of cold sweat runs along my collar bone. I, too, bite my lip.

“I repeat again, Professor. Janeway and Chakotay – how are they able to manipulate the simulation? And don’t try to be smart and play for time. No one will find you here. We have been hiding with this cloaked ship in the hangar for many months. And believe me, most of the technology we are using is definitely not ... hmmm ... let's say Federation standard."

The men in the room break out in boisterous laughter and my already disheartened spirits sink even lower, dragging any courage with it. I envy Joseph for his professional calmness.

"Well, maybe the life of your friend is not enough motivation, Professor? How about this." With a beatific smile on his face, Carstairs skims his fingers along a small spherical device on his desk beside the bronze fertility god with his monumental erect penis. “This beauty here really is something special. Keen to know what it is able to do? No? But you should be interested, Professor, you really should. Because-“, and he almost caresses it, “your daughter’s life and that of her crew depends on it.”

I swallow heavily.

“Oh, now I have your interest? I am pleased; I really am, because I am interested in your answer to my question. And don’t even pretend that you don’t know, I’ve been informed that-”

“You’re bluffing, Carstairs,” Joseph interrupts him coughing, blood spilling out of his mouth.

A nasty laugh escapes Carstairs. “You think I am bluffing because I am not in the position to damage _Voyager_ in this hangar without endangering my own ship? Is it that you want to say? As if damage could only be caused by phasers and torpedos. Tsk tsk tsk, Amasov. I really expect more from you...” Pensively he averts his gaze from us and stares out of the window. “There are so many ways to kill. So many ways...”

I shoot a panicky look at Joseph, who still appears unmoved. Darn. I am a mathematician at university. My experience in interrogation techniques is unfortunately limited to the other side and consists mostly of how to squeeze some formulas and terms out of non-cooperating students. But it can’t be a good sign when the bad guy starts talking like this, can it?

With apparently great effort, Joseph straightens himself up. “I am not that stupid, Carstairs. But you know, you don’t make much sense. First, you are killing off Starfleet personnel in front of their noses and think it won’t be recognised. And second you are threatening us with this… device, which looks like one of the illegal devices I recently came across at Deep Space 9. Let me guess. It uplinks your ship to _Voyager_ and should also connect you to the simulation, but you are stuck. It’s not working. At least not like you were used prior to Janeway’s unpredicted reaction at the Caretaker array. Now, you can’t get data out of the simulation nor manipulate it, because Captain Janeway’s destruction of the array has unfortunately destroyed the route in and you haven’t found a way yet to bypass the heavily encrypted algorithms of the simulation? So you are bluffing. Am I right?”

Lifting his eyebrows, Carstairs grabs his seat and, sitting down, he leans back with his hands crossed on the back of his neck and puts his feet on his desk. He does not hide in the least that he is amused. “Ah nicely done, Amasov. I am relieved that you are no dead loss. And I am happy to enlighten you that the ensign is of no relevance to us, since this hiding place has almost fulfilled its purpose and we will be gone, if we have the information we want from you.”

Joseph snorts. “Come on, Carstairs. You have collected data from dozens of simulations before you were ... interrupted. Why the hell are you interested in the comparable little data from _Voyager_ , which has been accumulated since you were forced to leave? Why do you want to know how Janeway and Chakotay interfere with the simulation? It’s the last working simulation and a matter of time until it is terminated too. So even if you had access to the simulation again, you wouldn’t be able to squeeze much data out of it anymore. It’s not worth the effort.”

“Mmmhmm.” Unwinding his position, Carstairs stands up with a frightening glittering in his eyes. “Well, indeed it wouldn’t be worth the effort, yes. But who says that this station is the only station with active simulations?”

Joseph pales and I am sure I do too. Oh shit. Oh holy, holy shit.

“Now does it make more sense to you, Captain? Although the goal of these simulations here was to test only the exposure to long time pressure, the Janeway simulation had some interesting by-products. You have noticed the time loops? Interesting stuff. Several times they not only went decades ahead of our time but developed new technology. Future technology. Far more advanced than our current technology. Interesting, isn’t it?” Again he smiles his annoying smile. “Of course we paid a bit more attention to the idea of some simulations which run very fast in time and spill out new technology. As you can see we have already implemented some of these by-products on the _Calypso_. Like the shields and the cloak. Or this beauty here, which by the way has not only an uplink to the _Voyager_ simulation but also a virus to destroy it if necessary.”

I close my eyes in desperation, not wanting to see the bastard’s visage anymore; childishly hoping that by closing my eyes I somehow could escape this madness.

“Anyway. It is not in our interest for anyone in any simulation to have control over it again – even on a subconscious level. You understand? Now, either you work with us, or both of you will die along with Janeway and her crew.” A flush of his aftershave mixed with sweat reaches my nose as he steps close to me. “It’s a simple binary decision, Professor, and as I told you before, Amasov is dispensable. There are many ways to kill a man slo-“

A violent shake of the ship interrupts him and sweeps everyone in the room on to the floor. The sounds of red klaxons pierce the air.

“Carstairs to the bridge. Status!” roars Carstairs angrily, jumping on to his feet.

_“Captain, shields are down on sixty three percent. We are having troubles compensating for this ion storm.”_

“Then what is the point of using advanced technology? Why the hell aren't the phase shields holding off an annoyance like a simple ion storm?”

_“Don't know, Sir. We are working on it. There are some fluctuations in the-"_

Another series of impacts carries everyone in the room off their feet and sweeps my body hard against the wall. The floor meets me fast and merciless.

_"Captain to the bridge! The cloak is destabilizing. Shields are at eight percent."_

"Fuck! I am on my way. Padri, you stay here with our guests. The rest with me." Frantically the men get to their feet and leave the ready room without giving us another glance.

My eyes met Joseph’s across the room. This might be our chance. Maybe the only we will ever get.

Taking a few steps, Padri blocks the entrance to the bridge and directs his phaser at us. "Don't get any ideas. Move to the corner and sit-"

The shock wave, which hits us this time, is beyond anything I have encountered so far. Plants, decorations, chairs hurtle through the air. Again, I end up on the floor; all sorts of things are catapulted around us. Something large and bronze passes over me and hits Padri directly on his collar bone. He screams in agony.

And lets go of his weapon.

My heart stops.

Like in slow motion, the phaser drops down and spiralling in my direction, it skitters along the floor of the heavily shaking ship. Cursing, Padri tries to leap after it, but before his finger can close around the shaft, another shock wave alters its course.

It comes to a halt almost exactly between the two men.

In the sudden silence of an endless nanosecond we all stare at the motionless weapon like famished predators at a fat prey.

Padri and Joseph jump at it almost simultaneously from opposite directions, but being in the better physical condition, the Bajoran grabs the phaser with a triumphant cry first. Jumping on his feet again and turning his back on me, Padri aims at my friend.

"You're getting old and slow, Amasov," he gloats. "Go to the wall old ma-"

His body crumples down like a sack of potatoes. Blood trickles out from the back of his head and drops beside my shoes. Confused, I stare at the body. Why did he collapse?

"Margaret?"

Tentatively, I tear my eyes away from the man, who lies stock-still at my feet, and meet Joseph's glance. "I..." The words stick in my throat.

Very cautiously, Joseph hobbles in my direction and touches my right hand. "That was right in time, Gretchen, but would you please hand me the statuette? I’d prefer the back side though."

"Statu-?" It's then when I first recognise what I am holding. And where I am holding it. And what has happened. I let the bronze fertility god fall like a hot stone. "Shit, I killed Lt. Padri!"

"No, you didn't, Margaret. You just knocked him out.” He wrenches the weapon from the unconscious man and shoves me in direction of the other ready room door. “Now let’s go! Oberth class vessels have their escape pods nearby. We need to use the current chaos. If we are lucky, the _Calypso_ has lost its shields and is therefore visible to Starfleet. But we can’t count on that, especially not in midst of a series of incoming ion storms."

As fast as we can we exit the ready room through the second entrance and limp for our lives along a luckily abandoned corridor; the blinking red light and blaring klaxons tint everything into a ghostly atmosphere. My body, hurting in every imaginable and unimaginable spot, feels like one giant bruise.

Pale and pearls of sweat showing on his forehead, Joseph leads the way. "The intersection there." He pushes me breathlessly to the left into a long and thankfully empty hallway. Breathing heavily, he stops in front of a panel to a Jefferies tube and opens it. “You first. At the second tube junction, climb down the one vertical one until the very end. It should lead to the escape pod section. I am right behind you.”

Clenching my teeth together, I crawl along the dimly lighted tube until I reach the first junction, where our horizontal tunnel crosses a large vertical one. Cautiously and with trembling knees, I step out of ours to pass the few meters to the continuing tube. It is then, when I become aware of a familiar light vibration.

“Another shockwave is approaching!!!” I cry and grab with both hands for the ladder of the vertical tunnel only moments before we are hit. If I thought the last impact had been bad – this one is definitely worse.

Although I clinch with all my remaining strength to the ladder, I am unable to stop my body from being thrown over and over against the hard wall until the next strong hit lets the ship slope down. I scream in horror as my feet lose the ground and I am hanging diagonally in the air. My sweaty hands start gliding.

“Fucking hell!” curses out of the Jefferies tube, accompanied by a clattering noise. Something skitters out of the tube and is smashed against the opposite wall. Then drops into the vertical tube, banging all the way down.

As suddenly as it has begun, it stops and the world stands still and upright again. As my feet finally touch solid ground a sob of relief escapes me, my body shakes heavily. Beside me, Joseph almost collapses out of the tube. Ash white and holding his left shoulder with his right arm, he leans panting against the bulkhead.

“I’ve dislocated my left shoulder. And lost the phaser,” he says quietly between clenched teeth.

“Shit.” Swallowing, I wipe away the sweat in my face with my trembling underarm. “What are our options?”

“Continuing to crawl to the next junction and then climb down to the escape pods.”

I nod exhaustedly. “You will need my support.”

“Too narrow, Gretchen. I’m … ok. Somehow. Now, hurry.”

The next minutes blur in pain and fatigue, but somehow we manage to descend even the vertical Jefferies tube. At its end, I open the exit, but the room we enter has not the slightest resemblance to an escape pod section.

“They've changed the ship’s interior,” states Joseph.

We both stare in horror at a room which shouldn't be there, our ragged breathing the only sound carving into the thick silence.

Silence. The red klaxons have apparently stopped. Maybe already a while ago.

Cold fear creeps along my spine and leaves burning panic behind.

Unwelcome sounds destroy the silence surrounding us. Footsteps nearby. Shouted voices coming nearer.

We are trapped.

Gasping for breath I look at Joseph. "Now?"

"Take cover behind the console. I’ll remain at the entrance and try to overcome them from askance.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Overcoming them without weapons, beaten and with a dislocated shoulder. He can’t do it on his own. "Your boots. Give me your boots."

He stares back at me for a few endless moments before he jumps into action, pulls off his shoes clumsily and throws them into my direction. "I hope you know what you’re doing Margaret."

As I meet his view, it is suddenly like time comes to a halt, a strange peace of finality washes over me. Green-brown eyes melt into my soul until a loud noise rips us out of the magic. Without a further comment I grab his boots and toe of mine before I take shelter behind the console. No second too early.

Or more probably, one second too slow. From the corner of my eye I only perceive a fast movement, before a light flashes and hits the wall behind me exactly at the height I had been standing a moment earlier. Debris crumbles over me; the crackling noises as the small pieces hit the floor almost drown out a blunt sound which takes me back to the strikes Joseph received not long ago during his interrogation.

A cry of pain cuts into the air, forcing my whole being to pray that this time it is not my friend who receives the blow.

"Don't move, Padri, or Thual is dead. Drop down your weapon," Joseph shouts. A fierce grin spreads over my face. Good man!

"Amasov, Amasov. Always good for a surprise. So you have captured Thual. Nice. Well, he is a useless scientist anyway.” Padri's boastful laughter fills the room. “I reckon it was your granny girlfriend I almost shot? What a pity I missed her. But it's only a pleasure deferred. We both definitely have a score to settle with each other and I am resolved to enjoy every minute of it. Disappointed that this room holds no escape pods?"

Clothes rustle as someone moves. The air is thick with tension, fear and arrogance.

"Stop babbling and drop your weapon, Padri, or I’ll shoot him," repeats Joseph.

"Tell me, Captain, what makes you so sure that Thual’s weapon will work for you? Ever heard of biometric weapons? And above all, why do you think I would care for Thual at all?"

A dead silence stretches through the room.

Then it seems like everything is happening at once.

Several faint clicks as if someone is trying to fire a weapon in vain. Joseph curses followed by Padri’s laughter. “I told you, Amasov, that it won’t work you. Luckily mine does for me.”

Then a weapons buzz and Thual’s bloodcurling scream accompanied with the sound of a body heavily slumping to the floor.

My blood freezes, my shaky fingers clutch into the boots. Shit, shit, shit, SHIT! Margaret. Darn. Get a grip! Breathe!

Joseph moans in pain. “You bastard, you killed your colleague.”

"That’s the risk of working for Section 31. If you are stupid enough to become a hostage, it is your problem. Now, let’s talk. I want information, Amasov. Pronto."

"Only over my dead body, Padri." Joseph’s voice is alarmingly strained.

"Oh, that can be easily arranged. Certainly I will amuse myself a lot with your lovely old lady then."

"Don't you dare..."

Rustling movements and the sounds of a scuffle, then again, Padri's triumphant laughter. "Nice try, Captain, but you are too old and slow to overcome me. Now, Amasov. Let's talk. Or do you need a bit reinforcement?"

The scream which escapes Joseph is the kick-off I needed. I have to act. Now or never.

In a swift movement I surface from behind the console with a boot in each hand while quickly assessing the situation. They are not far away from me. Blood on the floor, in midst of it Thual’s lifeless body with a huge dark wound on his breast and looking positively dead. Joseph in an awkwardly crouching position beside him with an even more chalk white face than before and pressing bloody hands on his side which looks also burnt and black. Padri targeting Joseph’s head with his weapon.

I aim. And throw the first boot, then immediately the second. Both swirl through the air. The first only brushes Padri at the shoulder.

"What...?" he says with an astonished expression and while he swirls around in my direction, the second one is a direct hit into his face. He doesn't have time to react. Having had already snatched the remaining two, I throw again. Stumbling backwards, Padri tries to shelter his head with his free arm.

In a swift movement despite his injuries, Joseph grabs the weapon on the floor and bashes it on Padri’s right temple with full force. Both men collapse almost simultaneously. Joseph lands on his knees spitting blood.

“Joseph?” Running immediately to him, I try to stabilize him in a sitting position against the bulkhead. His uniform rapidly gets darker around the gunshot wound. Small red droplets pour out the fabric.

“I need you to bandage the wound immediately,” he coughs, blood spills out of his mouth again. “What the hell kind of a weapon was this? It burns and feels cold at the same time…”

Removing my jacket as fast as I can, I tear it into long strips with the aid of a sharp piece of debris and wind it around Joseph’s torso tightly. He nods approvingly. “Starfleet has been bereaved of a talented medical officer.”

Although my pulse still races, I manage even a kind of annoyed snort as response. “We need to get out of here. Do you have any alternative ideas?”

He leans back his head and gives me a long glance. “Since they’ve obviously changed the ship’s schematics I can only speculate. The question is, if we could access -”

We both jerk at the sudden onset of red klaxons. A big grin spreads over Joseph’s face. “Ah, perfect. Troubles for them mean time for us. We might be down but not out yet. Gretchen, try to access the console. We need to know why the red alert was triggered and if we can send a distress call to the station.”

Still trembling, I walk over to the console and wipe away the debris covering the keys. Nothing reacts to my commands. “It’s locked.”

“Darn. Alright, help me up. I might have an idea how to bypass a few circuits. And don’t look at me like that. I have been worse. Really.”

Sighing, I aid him on to his feet and together we creep more than walk the few meters to the console. A few times my hands almost slip away from his blood soaked uniform.

He hesitates as he sees the entries on the panel. “Hmmm. I see. We need to do it the rough way. Luckily, Oberth class vessels-”, he removes a panel using his still intact arm and yanks out a few cables and then some more, “- offer a tiny possibility for manipulation if you know the system’s weak spots. Ah, there it is…” Some lights on the console start to flicker. Joseph’s fingers move over the keys and smear blood on to the surface. “It’s an intruder alarm. Starfleet is boarding the _Calypso_ , which means Carstairs will surely have other priorities now. Regrettably I can neither access the internal nor the external com to send a distress call. I fear our options are limited. We can’t sneak out undiscovered and pretend to have been asleep the whole night. I've lost too much blood to crawl back to the station and additionally I have lost blood on too many places on this ship. My DNA would give me away immediately.” Shifting his weight again on me, he points towards the wall nearby. “I need to sit down.”

“So we'll have to wait until someone notices that we are trapped in here and gets us out?” I say, helping him.

Joseph breathes out slowly as he leans back again. “Basically that’s it, yes. However, we need to make sure that Padri won’t make any trouble if he wakes up before we are rescued. At least Thual won’t bother us or anyone else anymore.”

Heaving a tired sigh I go over to the unconscious Bajoran and tie his elbows and hands with the last remaining ripped shirt strips before I finally am able to stretch my hurting back. “What now?”

Joseph gives the pinioned unconscious figure on the floor a short glance. Beats of sweat glitter on his forehead. "Take Thual’s and Padri’s weapons with you and then we can only wait to be busted."

"Well, it was a matter of time until we got busted, wasn't it?" The tone of my voice is as bitter as the taste in my mouth. He doesn't reply. Stretching my back again, I collect the scattered boots and weapons and join him at the bulkhead to help him into his boots and to check the bandage. Although the cloth is black it is apparent that the blood has soaked it almost completely. "Holy Pi."

A tired smile tugs on his bloodless lips. "I've experienced worse, Gretchen. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

This time it is me who doesn't reply. Slipping down with my back on the bulkhead, I embrace my knees and drop my head on them. The game is over.

Time passes by.

“Gretchen?”

“Hmm?”

“Why Pi? I mean you could swear on anything. But why on Pi?”

Lifting my head, I can’t help smiling at this question. “Because it is so damn irrational perfect. Because it-“

_“Hayes to Amasov.”_

We both share a surprised look. Shaking his head as I want to help him up, Joseph heaves himself to his feet with pain clouding his face and limps to the console nearby to activate it. “Amasov here.”

_“Scanner readings indicate that you have disabled two Section 31 operatives and you are only moderately injured. Confirm.”_

Joseph’s eyes narrow. “Confirmed.”

_“Stand by until our arrival and put down your weapons at the room’s entrance.”_

Digging his fingers tightly into the console so that the knuckles become white, Joseph’s claw clenches, his expression getting more and more angry. After what feels like an eternity he finally spits, “Acknowledged.”

The comm line goes silent.

“As if we have any other choice,” he mutters, fury radiating from him as he reaches for the two – to us – useless biometric weapons and throws them in direction of the room’s entrance.

Puzzled, I look at him expectantly, but again shaking only his head as response he slumps down beside me on the floor again and leans back to the wall with his arm pressed on his injured side.

We wait in silence for Starfleet’s arrival. At least it gives me time to put my shoes back on. Meeting Hayes in socks would somehow make things even worse.

“Margaret?” Joseph says after a while, his voice colored with pain and suppressed anger.

“Yes?” Tilting my head on my side I meet his eyes.

“They shouldn’t have known that it is us who are here. We left the comm badges in our quarters.”

Holy Pi, he is right. We might have been as well any Starfleet personnel who had been ripped away from their comm badges and dragged to the _Calypso_. Moreover, we could have been Section 31 members.

I swallow. “How could they know then?”

His jaw clenches considerably. “If we had been monitored, for example.”

Sudden nausea hits me. “Don’t tell me that you think we were used as decoy for Lt. Padri and Dr. Thual?”

“Well, it was obvious that these two were interested in us the last few months, wasn’t it?”

I stare at him. “It would explain a lot of Nechayev’s behaviour… her distance … her recent catastrophic information policy.”

“Yes it would.”

“Starfleet couldn’t have known that we would eventually survive this whole affair.”

“No, they couldn’t.”

There is no need to go further into this. From the look in his eyes it’s clear what he thinks. Starfleet was willing to sacrifice the two of us in order to get their hands on the moles and the cloaked ship directly in front of their nose. Worst of all, I am sure he is right.

“So they must know what we have been up to lately.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Yes, most probably they were very aware of it. Maybe they have known it since my failed beam-out from the _Magellan_ and the subsequent search on the station.”

I feel myself paling. "Our box with all our findings."

"Considering the recent events it is most probable that they have found the box and just have let us continue to keep up appearances. And it is most probable that Nechayev has blown the whistle. At least that would explain her recent behaviour." Shifting his weight a bit, he studies me thoroughly. “Margaret, this time I am not sure if it is better to chew anyone’s head off or to keep the lowest profile possible. Our continuance in Starfleet’s investigation unit is uncertain. We can assume that Starfleet knows everything about our actions. I mean everything.”

Massaging my neck I bite my lips. “Well, they might have the raw data and maybe also some idea in which direction we were working, but they don’t have our brains and our conclusions. So we are going to be not completely useless to them.”

He nods slowly. “That’s our only hope to remain on the project, but prepare for a tough ride, Gretchen. We have undermined de facto everything that was possible to undermine.”

“Demotion to an admiral then?” I grin at him weakly with the gallows humor weighing on my neck.

“More likely promotion to a crewman or a civilian.” He smiles back and reaches for my hand.

With our fingers intertwined we wait in silence until they arrive. It takes them only a few minutes. Footsteps and shouted orders announce them long before they reach our small room.

Hesitantly, we somehow manage to stand up to meet Starfleet’s security team and to face the inevitable troubles.

Finally, Hayes' arrives with a bunch of officers, all with their weapons drawn and aiming at us, while an officer instantly takes charge of the two biometric phasers. Considering our own, unarmed situation, this is ridiculous. Their scans must have revealed that we are weaponless.

“Hand over the rest of your weapons,” Hayes' barks, his eyes sparkling with fury.

As neither of us responds immediately, his face turns dark pink with anger. “Captain, Professor, I strongly recommend you hand over the rest of your weapons.”

I cast a short side-glance at Joseph who seems equally surprised at this announcement. Surely it is obvious to everyone that we both are blissfully unarmed, isn’t it? Despite this fact the bunch appears to be extremely nervous - maybe it’s the combination of one dead and one unconscious body lying pinioned on the floor and the lack of further weapons showing up on their tricorders.

Lifting my eyebrow, I face again the edgy Starfleet bunch before me. “Weapons?”

Hayes eyes bore into mine. “Don’t play games with us, Professor. Hand them over immediately!”

Anger burns cold in my veins. This man belonged to those who used us as bait and would have sacrificed us without even batting an eyelid to reach their goal. A man who impeded for months any progress of the investigation team so that he could have a grip on the intruders, whilst 143 people are trapped in a simulation.

The hell with him.

“Very well then, Admiral.” In a slow motion I toe my boots off and reach for them. Some of the Starfleet officers seem to be amused, others remain motionless. Joseph moans quietly beside me.

Hayes narrows his eyes. “This is it. I warned you, Professor. I’ve had enough of your sick humor,” he growls through clenched teeth and signals one of his officers.

“Oh, I am only obliging your request,” I say calmly and using his short distraction I throw my weapons with full force.

It is said that occasionally time slows down in moments of horror or perfection. In fascination I watch my boot swirling through the air in direction of a stunned admiral who is too slow to get out of its way. Slow also is the arm’s movement of the security guard beside him and Joseph’s anxious ‘Margaret!’.

Not so slow is the phaser shot approaching me until its sharp bite tunnels my furious mind into darkness.  



	7. Additions

**A week later.**

Day 140 (1355 hours)

 

Three point two meters square - some people would call it a brig, but in my opinion it rather classifies as a sardine can. A bloody narrow and crowded sardine can.

Admittedly, it’s only me and Joseph who occupy the pothole, but the atmosphere in this establishment is loaded with extremely bad mood, lack of privacy, sarcasm and tons of self-pity. Some would call the tone charged, but most probably ‘volatile with tendency to explosive’ would describe it better.

And hell, unbelievable how someone can drive you nuts after one week in a sardine can!

"Margaret, stop walking. NOW. You are really getting on my nerves."

Stopping in mid-stride I shoot him a warning glare and continue. It's his decision to sit silently like a potato on the bench and twiddle his thumbs until they start bleeding. Not mine.

"I need to think," I bark back and turn around as I reach the wall again. Amazing that the floor doesn't show any signs of my pacing.

The bench behind me cracks. Obviously the man has finally got up on his feet. Hah!

"Think? Ah, now you start thinking? Good. I am so glad... Better late than never," he says with an annoyingly calm voice.

Spinning around on my heels with a growl in my throat, I fix my glare on him again. "What are you implying?"

His face, now slightly reddening with anger, is still a mask of self-control, although I am pleased to see the first cracks in the smooth Starfleet visage. "Oh nothing," he says in sugar-sweet calmness dripping with irony.

"Oh, of course. _Nothing_." I turn around and continue my walk. If this talk is continuing like the last few days, then I am fed up with it. We need solutions how to deal with the upcoming hearing from Starfleet. Hiding in a nutshell like he does and doing nothing is not an option for me.

"Surely you did think it through when you threw your boots at Hayes, didn't you?" he snarls at my back. "I mean 'thinking through' like 'having a plan' and not like 'acting like a stupid civilian'?"

Woha! Stupid? Now he really has crossed the line. The beast within me starts polishing its claws. In slow motion I turn around again. Throttling is not an option. It wants blood.

"Stupid?"

"Yes, like a damn stupid civilian! Margaret, what on earth were you thinking? If you wanted to do something to worsen matters, then you definitely hit the bull’s eye. Or do you think your behavior will be beneficial in the trial we are going to face? Do you really think that Starfleet command would keep you on this project, after you behaved in this irrational manner? Or is this the way you typically solve problems at the university?"

The moment I hesitate is probably one moment too long. The nasty incident with Prof. Peterson and the Andorian mathematician Prof. Hirash involving one of the museum's ancient dividers is still too fresh in my memory. Joseph stares at me with disbelief. "Don't tell me now that it is a common habit at university to throw boots at rivals?"

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a bit like a stubborn little child. "Andorian mathematicians are very radical in their views. And, I wasn't involved," I growl and add after a pause. "And, it didn't involve boots."

If an already disbelieving stare can get more disbelieving, Joseph's does and I am not sure if there is also a trace of desperation. It's this shade of something that makes me hope that he hasn't retracted completely into the dark cave of gloomy thoughts the Borg have left behind in his life, where there is no way out and even less power to fight.

Palming his face, he mutters some curses which barely cover the frustrated, "Why me?"

Why me. That's most probably the question we both have been asking frequently lately. The Borg. A husband who was married with Starfleet and died while performing his duty. Now a daughter and a dear friend lost to Section 31 and Starfleet in turn jeopardizing our lives.

So. Why us.

"Because you -" I sigh and my need to tear him into small pieces diminishes considerably, "are a brilliant tactician and familiar with Chakotay in a way no other is." And as he lifts his face and meets my eyes, I continue, "And I am a brilliant mathematician and familiar with Kathryn in a way no one else is. That's why us. We are their last hope."

Joseph presses his lips together and looks to the floor. "No. We are not."

"We are. And I will prove it at the hearing."

"No, Margaret, you won't.” Tearing his view from the floor he meets my glance. “While you were unconscious, I had two very definite talks with Admiral Hayes and Admiral Shanthi, the head of Starfleet. The hearing is not about if we are allowed to continue or not. It is about which consequences we - and to a minor degree this will also concern Nechayev - will have to face. There was no room left for arguments. Game over, Gretchen. The game is over..."

He could have as well hit me into my guts; at least this would have been more honest. Instead nausea and fury hit me simultaneously, heavy and with a bad aftertaste of treachery, leaving a disembodied feeling behind.

"And when, _Joseph_ , did you intend to tell me this little piece of information? During the hearing?" I say dangerously slowly.

"Well, I have told you now, haven't I?" he growls back.

"That's a tiny bit late, isn't it?"

"It wouldn't have made any difference except that your temper during this week would have been worse than it was already. Everything is already decided."

It's hard to resist the temptation to smack him down. Not that I would stand any chance, but ohhhhhhhhh the satisfaction of hurting him would be sweet. Indeed incredibly sweet.

"It would have made no difference?!? Are you completely out of your senses? We could have been thinking how-"

"Captain Amasov, Professor Janeway?"

We both swirl around on our heels.

"What?" I shout and meet the faces of two very embarrassed looking security officers.

"Umm. We are here to accompany you to the hearing," the larger of the two says and shoots the other one an uncomfortable look.

"Fine," I snarl, the anger only a few degrees below boiling point, "Lower the force field. I am in an EXTREMELY talkative mood now, anyway."

As I step out of the brig with my head held high, the guards jump out of my way and snap to attention. A grim smile forms on my face.

Time to unleash the growling beast.

 

=^=

 

**One hour later**

Starfleet is known for its hubris.

As a descendant of several Starfleet officers and having been married for decades to a Starfleet admiral, I have known this for a long time. The officers assembled in this room, however, have accumulated it in such a high density that it appears to be almost wrapped around their spines like the Aesculapian snake around the rod.

I try my best not to vomit on the floor out of disgust.

And, I try my best to stay focused on hard facts and not to lose myself in emotion. Too much is at stake.

Whoever thinks that only officers in the military or at Starfleet are battle trained has never lived a life at university or in science. Although the weapons in this context mostly consist of subtlety, the few available job niches and all other resources are fiercely fought over. You don't become Professor by merely being intelligent and a nice person.

One advantage to the whole situation: No one even tries to conceal the ship’s or crew’s identity anymore and it’s finally possible to talk openly. About time.

It seems that I am sort of a winner of the first sable rattling round. At least, Joseph and I are still in the hearing room, which means we are still on the station, which means we are still in the game. Taking the first presenting opportunity before they were even in the position to talk about which consequences we are going to face, I dug my salty finger deep into their wounded flesh of incompetence and stirred around a bit.

Subtlety.

Pointing out each deficiency in Hayes' strategy in a calm voice. Listing all weaknesses of their plans and achievements by using the sort of objectivity which borders open aggression and at the same time undermines my opponent's position due to its almost Vulcan logic. It is not so different from a scientific meeting where colleagues are yet unwilling to accept that my method or view of things is indeed correct. The grinding of teeth that began after my opening speech, especially from Hayes, has become a soothing background noise for my nerves. After all, he DID make a lot of miscalculations and misjudgements.

With a grunt, Admiral Shanthi, the head of Starfleet, leans back into her chair, the fingertips from both of her hands resting on each other. "Alright, Professor. You made your point clear that there are major issues to discuss and I concede that. However, the only alternative, Admiral Nechayev's 'strategy', is still on hypothesis level. Am I right, Admiral?"

Straightening her shoulders and giving me a furious glare, Nechayev's jaw clenches. "Yes. At least of what I am aware of."

"I see." Shanthi's eyes scrutinize me. "The point is Professor, you and Captain Amasov have assembled a lot of data which makes no sense to any of us. Care to enlighten us about your 'strategy' or are you only able to dismantle other people's work?"

This time it's me who inwardly grits my teeth. At least Joseph's plan to keep our data in Nechayev's box as cryptic as possible and to encode the rest if necessary so that we are the only people who would be able to make use of it, has worked out fine.

But... strategy? My silent hope that simply telling the authorities that Hayes' strategy won't work in any without massive collateral damage crumbles into smithereens. Joseph and I haven't come that far by light-years. We have discussed ideas and possibilities, yes, but for a proper strategy besides more time to screen the data, we would have also needed more material from _Voyager_ or the _Val Jean_.

Glancing to Joseph, who leans with a composed air to the desk beside him, I say slowly, "Well..."

He gives me a confirming nod. "You should tell them our whole strategy, Margaret."

I stare at him. Holy Pi. Is this man mad? There is no strategy. I feel my face cramp into a friendly smile. "Me?"

"You are better suited to relate to them the complexity of your equations," he answers, still looking very confident while my forced smile gets even broader.

"I am?" I meet his eyes and understanding dawns. Tacticians. A bluff. I need to bluff. "Most probably I am better suited, yes," I say slowly, not breaking eye contact with him.

"Of course you are," he repeats and I can see the satisfaction in his eyes that I have gotten the message.

With a deep breath, I tear my eyes away from him and look at the people before me who mostly return the look hostilely. It's almost like the look you get when you order a lecture hall full of first semester students to put away every calculator and to calculate all equations manually and on paper.

Sweat brakes out in my armpits.

Alright. A bluff. I need a bluff. And a good one. Darn.

Isn't offence the best defence? Slowly I feel my inner Professor taking over, wrapping me into an aura of knowing authority. Let's make something out of pure speculation and sell it as worked out strategy. I start pacing. "Indeed we recommend following a multifactorial strategy. It is based on the data we had access to, so it might need appropriate adjustment when we get the whole data set to analyse. The solution-" I turn towards the assembled people like I usually do when pointing out something very important to my students, "to our problem of how we get them out of the simulation alive, lies already within the simulation."

Someone in the auditorium snarls.

"So, before I go into details, let me ask - or better - confirm some questions. There are active stasis chambers with crew members who are still alive although they have died within the simulation. True or not?"

Admiral Shanthi's face remains unmoved. "True. Twenty one to be exact."

Her answer runs hot and cold along my spine. Holy Pi. Twenty one people! For a moment I close my eyes to focus again. "All these people died within the simulation after 2379."

She raises her eyebrows. "It’s 2378, but yes, you are right."

I can't help but sending Joseph a short triumphant glance and he nods in response. It had been a speculation of ours about what happened to people when they died within the simulation while it was progressing through a time loop. All the evidence we had pointed in one direction: When the time loop ended and everything started anew from the marking point, all 'dead' crew members were restored again. At least this is what must have been happened, since in one of the fragments we have worked on Kathryn had been killed, but she is still alive in the stasis chamber and is still part of the simulation. Also, obviously our estimation of the current time loop’s beginning was almost correct.

Feeling encouraged, I start pacing again. "Since we are in possession of the corresponding data set, I don't have to ask you this question, but can simply state that the time velocity within the simulation has gotten continually faster over the past few months. Based on our calculations which I will elucidate later in more detail, Captain Amasov and I conclude that the simulation is currently in a time loop, which most probably has started around 2378. If you give me the permission to screen the raw data, I can even pinpoint it exactly to the day."

Murmur fills the room, but I ignore it. My mind works at full blast, drawing connections between our speculation, ideas and facts, finding new possibilities. "As I said before, we think that a multifactorial strategy will be the best way. First we will use the simulations' own technology: Since time loops seem to conserve all people, their personality and their memories who are living through it, we need only to copy this technique to create for each person in the simulation a bypass conduit. Next, we need to influence the simulation in a way so that it believes that the person to be extricated is dead and activates the subroutines for the storage program. We then will transfer the data directly to the bypass conduit so that we can finally decouple the crew member from the simulation entirely."

Holy Pi. I need a pause or my thoughts are going to bolt. Taking my already throaty voice as excuse and pretending a few coughs, I walk to the table near the entrance and take one of the glasses of water. While I sip the cool liquid, I risk again a short glance at Joseph. He looks ... pleased. Surprised. Impressed. Of course only subtlety, but meanwhile I know him well enough to read the signs.

The whole room is completely silent, all eyes lie on me. Putting the glass back on the table, I return again to the middle of the room. "This leads now to our second problem, namely how to influence the simulation in a way so that it is convinced of a person’s faked death. We should also keep in mind that once we are able to change things in the matrix, we are also able to change the scenarios the crew is exposed to. However, as far as I am aware, all previous attempts to manipulate anything have failed. Am I right?" I look questioningly at Admiral Shanthi.

Shanthi still sits in the same position with the same expression on her face. "Yes. Changes to the simulation were intended to happen only via one route. Section 31 used a special interface to set up the experimental conditions, but this device was destroyed during the failure cascade in the system caused by Captain Janeway's destruction of the Caretaker array. Unfortunately we have not been able to find alternatives for this route so far. The simulation is protected by several complex safety mechanisms."

I nod with a smirk on my face. "That's where Admiral Nechayev's hypothesis comes in. We all know that all simulations seem to interact directly with the leading person of the vessel and adjust the experiments accordingly. Admiral Nechayev's hypothesis is that the secret to Janeway’s and Chakotay’s survival lies in the captains personalities. Surely, they are capable leaders, but so were other captains trapped in the simulation. So, where is the anomaly in this interaction between captains and simulation? Why could these simulations fuse at all? How is it possible that time loops exist? What induces it?" I let my gaze wander about the room. "What do we know? We know for sure that Janeway and Chakotay work exceptionally well together given the circumstances. Furthermore, we know for sure that they share a reality and that two captains interact with the simulation, which might make it more difficult for the program to react. We also know for sure that this simulation has some aberrations such as the time loops or the artificially created new crew members like Kes or Neelix. Everything I listed now must be there for a reason. Moreover, we think this is most probably all connected. Thus, if we want to find an alternative way for manipulation, we need to understand all these issues more profoundly. In our opinion this is the only way to bypass the safety protocols and to regain control over the whole program."

A drop of sweat runs along my neck. Holy, holy, _holy_ Pi. Hopefully someone protocols my speech so that I can reread it later. This gibble gabble even makes some sense! Thank you subconsciousness! Nevertheless I feel the energy draining from my system. It’s impossible to continue much longer - I am completely running out of ideas.

"I suppose you can back everything you told us up with data and calculations." Shanthi's question is my rescue.

"Certainly. Moreover, this course of action has some benefits compared to the strategy proposed by Admiral Hayes. There is no risky reversed Caretaker scenario where we most probably will have a casualty rate beyond fifty percent. Also their memories remain intact. No reset to their initial state of memories before they were introduced into the simulation is necessary. No risk of any mental harm. Furthermore, with all their memories intact the crew will awake with the support of their community and can deal with it together and don’t have to be alone. Yes, they will have also to deal with the trauma. But even if they lose their memories, they eventually will be informed of what happened to them."

Admiral Shanthi folds her fingers together. "Although your conclusions sound very promising, Professor, we can't afford to not follow Admiral Hayes' strategy."

Surprisingly there is no thud as my jaw touches the floor. "I just told you that it is complete nonsense and ...."

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "I know, Professor. And if matters were different, if we had more time, then I would definitely designate a considerable part of the current team to work on your ideas. However, time is exactly our problem. Since you were merely working with data fragments from _Voyager_ , you lack one important piece of information. The _Val Jean_ 's input to the simulation has been destabilizing for quite a while now and it looks like it is also going to destabilize the _Voyager_ and _Equinox_ part, thus risking a collapse of the combined simulation. Also some people are already showing signs of degradation, especially the Vulcan officers and particularly Tuvok, as well as Captain Chakotay and Ensign Kim, who, being the sole survivors within a time loop, have been exposed to the simulation for about fifteen additional years than the rest of the crew."

My heart sinks into my boots and with it all my optimism. Destabilizing. Myriads of thoughts processing the consequences of this information flash through my brain.

Destabilizing. One doesn't have to be a genius to understand where this is heading.

As I don't respond, Admiral Shanthi slowly stands up from her chair and walks towards me. Her voice is unusually soft. "The thing is, Professor, Hayes' strategy is limping, but at least it is already in the stage to limp. Your suggestions might work, but they could as well not work and we have no idea how long it would take you to make them work at all. We can't risk deducting any resources from Hayes' team. Yes, people will certainly die in the process of extraction, but with luck, the better part of them will live. Yes, their memories will reset to the time where they had been introduced to the simulation, and yes, there is a not to be underestimated risk of them losing more than just the memories from the simulation and no one can tell, whether they will stay sane after the procedure. But the current destabilisation might make it necessary to start as soon as tomorrow. Not to mention the fact that Section 31 or any other interested group might also make it necessary to rescue them immediately." She takes a deep breath. "Any other decision would be negligent on my part. I am sorry."

 _I am sorry_. So softly spoken. So definitely meant. So final in its consequences. _If_ Kathryn survives it and is still mentally healthy, then she will lose all memories of the people she came to rely on and love as friends. She is bereft of the strength of the community they've built. She has to face it on her own, the only help she will get is from strangers to her; whether they have been victims like her or people outside the simulation.

The question is, if she is going to survive _that_ experience. She is so strong, my beloved daughter, when it comes to others, but rarely for herself.

I shortly close my eyes, unable to suppress the piercing pain. I can’t let it happen that way, no, I can’t ...

_Small tiny warm hand touching my skin, blue eyes full of love and trust meet mine as the small mouth tries to latch on my breast. Time stopping as we both dwell in the soothing harmony of unity. A promise grown out of love that I will protect her with every fibre that I am for the rest of my life..._

“Do you have children, Admiral?” I whisper, not caring anymore that desperate tears fill my eyes and the admiral’s figure blurs before me, only her stern look on me remains uncomfortably clear.

She doesn’t speak for a small eternity. “Yes. Two sons and a daughter.”

I nod. There remains nothing to add. So she must understand what it feels like to be in my position.

She takes a deep breath. “I am sorry, Professor, but my hands are bound strongly in this matter...”

Numbness spreads all over my body at her words and as I lift my chin for a last despairing fight, she lays her hand on my shoulders. “I said strongly bound, Professor, not completely bound.”

Straightening her shoulders, Admiral Shanthi gives me a short nod and briskly turns towards the assembled group. “Nechayev, since this was your idea, you are going to continue with Professor Janeway and Captain Amasov to work on their findings. You are allowed to take two further persons outside the station into your team providing secrecy is maintained. I want regular reports of your progress on my desk. And Hayes, I want you to support Nechayev and her group with all necessary information and give her access to all parts of the station. No restrictions. Dismissed.”

The temperature in the room is below absolute zero. Without a further word but fury sparkling out of every pore, Admiral Hayes storms out the room, his fellows in his trail. Nechayev looks like she is not sure whether she has eaten an extra-sour lemon or an uber-sweet candy. Slowly, she too leaves the room with the rest of the group.

Only Admiral Shanthi, Joseph and I remain.

“Well, Professor, Captain,” she begins with a sigh. “I’m not sure if I should congratulate you on this or not. However, if you follow Nechayev’s hypothesis then I would strongly recommend you designate someone to dig through Janeway’s and Chakotay’s personal logs. Anyway, one extra mission of yours which doesn’t have my blessing and you are out of this project before you bat an eyelid. Do you understand?”

We both nod quietly, not daring to risk something which could change her opinion.

"Good luck to you," she says and leaves the room too.

In silence, Joseph and I drag ourselves in direction of our quarters, our dispute from the brig still hanging between us like a dark cloud. With a sigh he stops in front of his door. "Margaret?"

I roll back my shoulders and face him. "Yes?"

He swallows. "Ummm ..." Pauses. Then takes a deep breath. "Something to drink? As kind of a peace offer?"

Narrowing my eyes, I place my hands on my hips. "And then everything is lovely again and unicorns fart rainbows?"

He shifts from one foot to another. "No..."

"Tell you what, Joseph Amasov. I don’t give a damn about Starfleet rules. If YOU want to bend your will because someone told you to do it their way, it's your problem. If you want to give up, because you fear losing the loyalty of the organisation, which sent you into hell and beyond, just because you think you don't have anyone else left in your life, it's also your problem. But _I_ for my part will do what is necessary to get Kathryn out of this damn simulation and if that means that I will have to do it behind Starfleet’s back again, then I will do it. You understand?"

"Yes, but-"

"Nothing 'but'!!! And don't you dare to not tell me how things stand ever again!"

"I am sorry...," he stumbles.

"I hope you are!"

"I am," he says quietly.

Silence engulfs us again and we stare at each other, not caring what the few bypassing people think of us.

Joseph finally scratches his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "A drink and a week cooking as peace offer."

I raise my eyebrows.

He sighs. "Alright. A drink and two weeks of cooking as peace offer, garnished with the promise to never withhold facts from you again."

"I will think about it. Good night, Joseph." It feels a bit weird to turn around to my quarters and to simply leave him like that. But on the other hand, I am not in the mood for a cheerful tête-à-tête.

"Gretchen?"

I stop in front of my door without looking back to him. "Yes?"

"You did a brilliant job today."

Slowly, I turn around to face him. He looks severe. "I know. But, thank you. Good night."

As the doors of my for the last week abandoned quarters shut behind me, I feel suddenly very lonely.

Pensively I walk to the replicator. "Coffee, black."

The cup materializes before my eyes, filling the air with a delicious smell. Too tired and agitated to sleep, I take a sip and listen to the shreds of thoughts floating through my mind.

Someone to work through Kathryn's and Chakotay's personal logs... A somehow nauseating thought. Admiral Shanthi might be right in her advice, but to stir in someone’s most personal issues and revelations, to intrude into my daughter's intimate sphere that she never intended to be laid open before others, still less her mother... No. I can't do it myself; it is out of the question. Besides, I am needed somewhere else.

But who else can? Who else would Kathryn trust so much that she would lay the interior of her heart open?

 

=^=

 

**13 days later**

Day 153 (2109 hours)

 

Agonizingly slowly the small ship enters the station's shuttle bay and I can't wait to see the small figure with a mass of curly brown hair disembark. Handing her luggage to one of the ensigns standing nearby, the woman slowly searches the room.

"Mom!" she shouts and almost runs in my direction.

"Phoebe!" With a cry of joy I engulf my younger daughter into my arms, dwell in the warmth of her body and my delight at seeing her again. My little one. My sweet little one who faced the terrible losses of her father and sister with me. My wonderful creative daughter, who followed her heart and destiny and became an artist in midst of a family with Starfleet officers and natural scientists. My spirited contrary daughter, never to be at a loss for a cheeky answer or an uncommon solution for an everyday problem.

One of the few people Kathryn ever had a hard time beating. One of the few people who dared to challenge Kathryn even when she was stubborn as a mule. And the only one who was able to tear Kathryn out of her depression after her fiancé and her father had died in the shuttle crash and she had survived the accident only by mere luck.

Although they are as different as cat and dog, they were at times one heart and one soul.

Kathryn's personal logs would be safe in Phoebe's hands.

With tears in my eyes, I break our embrace.

"Oh mom, you look terrible," she says and the sorrow about me is evident in her eyes.

It's so good to have her in my life again. I smile. "Thanks, Phoebe. That's exactly the thing an old mother wants to hear from her daughter."

"Come on. Tell me - when did you have your last decent cup of coffee? And when was your last couple of hours restful sleep? Let me guess. The former a few minutes ago and most probably in abundance, the latter too long ago to remember."

Sighing, I guide her out of the shuttle bay. "Things here are too serious to fall into a relaxed state."

Her face darkens. "I read the reports they sent me and your findings. I think I haven't slept well since then either. So, your unofficial secret investigation team is now definitely official and authorised and I will be part of it?"

"Yes. We were given access to all data we want to have plus a few rooms where we can work undisturbed on our strategy."

"Nice. And what about this Carstairs and his fellows? Did you get some useful information from them?”

Involuntarily my steps get slower. My daughter shoots me a worrying look. “Mom?”

“They …,” I take a deep breath at this unpleasant topic. “Well, they all have killed themselves while being in custody.”

“I see. Some sort of agent-kills-himself-before-someone-else-does-it?”

I hesitate, since this was exactly Joseph’s reaction, including the additional remark that they got off the hook far too easily. “Considering the many victims they have killed, they probably wouldn’t have gotten far anyway…”

We both continue walking in silence. Finally Phoebe speaks again. “When are you going to introduce me to the others?"

"I thought immediately. It is already late and it would be a good idea to meet everyone before we call it a night. I’ll show you your quarters afterwards and you can get a few hours of sleep. Besides, I think you want to see Kathryn too."

Phoebe doesn’t respond, but I hear her heavily swallowing. As we enter the antechamber of the outer ring airlock, she gives me a surprised look. "Are we boarding _Voyager_?"

"Yes. Kathryn's stasis chamber is on _Voyager_ 's bridge. In addition, Admiral Shanthi has designated _Voyager_ 's briefing room and the ready room at our disposal. Currently we work in the briefing room. It's bigger and we have access to all information from there."

Like many months ago when I had walked through _Voyager_ 's corridors with Nechayev, Phoebe and I go in silence through the almost abandoned ship to the bridge. She doesn't say a word when she first sees Kathryn in her stasis chamber. Instead she gently strokes the glass over Kathryn's face, her quietly falling tears leaving wet stripes on the surface before they slowly drop to the floor.

I gulp back a sob.

Finally she seeks my eyes, her cheeks glowing with anger. "If I ever get one of those bastards in my fingers, I swear..."

"Me, too," I say and lay my hand on her arm. Her body relaxes considerably. "But first we have to end this here."

Wiping away the tears from her face, Phoebe grits her teeth. "We will. If it is the last thing I do."

"Do you feel well enough to meet the others?"

She nods. Squeezing her arm softly, I direct my younger daughter towards the briefing room of my elder one, while the nasty feeling of unreality grips my heart. Neither of them should be there where they are now. It's so wrong.

 

=^=

 

"So you are Phoebe Janeway, Kathryn's sister," states Nechayev briskly as we enter the briefing room, and she scrutinizes my daughter openly with one of her stern looks. The admiral has never been pleased by the idea of taking Phoebe and Sekaya, Chakotay’s sister, into the team. She was, however, not able to come up with a better suggestion.

Being the descendant of a long line of Starfleet officers, Phoebe doesn't even flinch at her gaze. "Last time I checked I was. Admiral Alynna Nechayev, I guess? You don't look like you are Captain Joseph Amasov."

The sound which escapes Joseph at her announcement is a wild mixture between cough, laugh and gurgling and he obviously has a hard time not spilling his drink across the desk which is overloaded with PADDs.

I sigh. That's Phoebe in her essence - entering a room and immediately challenging the boss or the rules or both. To avoid any more damage, I take control over the conversation. "May I introduce Admiral Alynna Nechayev. Captain Joseph Amasov. Sekaya. This is Phoebe, my younger daughter."

In a swift movement, Joseph places his cup on the desk's surface and stands up to shake hands with Phoebe, while at the same time relieving Nechayev of the uncomfortable position of reprimanding a civilian. Tactician indeed. "Nice to meet you Phoebe. As you have observed so adeptly, I am Joseph."

She responds with a huge grin and shakes his hand. "So, you are the man who got my mom crawling through Jefferies tubes."

"I am," he grins back and turns in the direction of a tall slender woman of Phoebe's age with long dark hair and brown intelligent eyes; her relationship to Chakotay unmissable. "And this is Sekaya, Chakotay’s sister. She joined us a few days ago."

A warm smile flashes over Sekaya's face and she too extends her hand to Phoebe. "Welcome."

Phoebe responds with an equally warm smile. "Thank you."

Sekaya had been a very good choice. Not only is she a very emphatic person, but she also has a quick wit and immediately started to dig through the huge workload.

With an unnecessarily loud noise, Nechayev lays a PADD on the desk. "You have time to socialise later. Professor, we both need to finish these estimations here."

I sigh inwardly. While things between me and Joseph have settled comfortably after a few dinners, Nechayev still harbours a grudge against us. Too bad that I have to team up with her at the moment to run several search algorithms over the huge data set.

Phoebe shrugs. "No problem. Where can I start?"

I point to a pile of PADDs. "Here."

Rounding the table she takes a seat. "Alright. Let’s begin."

 

 

It's almost two hours later when we all leave Voyager's briefing room and board the station again. Definitely too late to have one of the still open 'peace-offer-dinners'.

As we reach our quarters, Joseph stops in front of his door. "I consider the dinner only as postponed, Gretchen. I pay my debts."

Phoebe gives him a puzzled look. "Debts?"

I can't help smiling. "I hope you do. Good night, Joseph."

I also can't help noticing my daughter's inquisitive glance when we enter my quarters as well as the sudden unwelcome warmth on my cheeks. I am very glad that she doesn't waste any words on it the whole evening.


	8. Perspectives

**5 days later**

_ Day 158 (1430 hours) _

 

"Oh damn it! This stuff here is useless!" With a loud clonk her PADD lands on the desk.

"Phoebe!" I growl. She really has never learned how to tame her temper.

"Come on Mom. You know I am right. It's impossible to make creative connections using *this* stuff here. We need to grab things. I mean literally."

Joseph lifts an eyebrow. "A creative genius having problems with electronic devices?"

Half-seriously Phoebe wags a finger in his direction. "Watch out, Joseph, you are walking dangerous grounds here."

"You have no idea, how dangerous, Joseph," I sigh, some of her outbursts vividly in mind.

Laying her own PADD on the desk, Nechayev surveys my daughter with a pensive look in her eyes. "Hmmm, Miss Janeway, you might be right. We are stuck and need additional options and viewpoints. Or has anyone had recently a big break I am not familiar with?"

Definitely a rhetorical question. There had been no breakthrough of any kind. Frustrating to chew facts over and over again until they feel so mushy that you don't find anything tangible there anyway.

Standing up from her chair, Nechayev walks to the replicator. "Coffee, black, three spoons sugar."

I cringe.

With her sugar-spoiled coffee in her hand, Nechayev gives Phoebe a nod. "Alright. You have my authorization to get everything you feel necessary in order that we *grasp* matters."

"Everything?" A triumphant grin appears on Phoebe's face, but Nechayev stays serious.

"Everything within reasonable limits. We give your strategy a chance. The current one is obviously exhausted."

Almost jumping from her chair on her feet like a spring chicken, Phoebe heads in direction of the room’s exit. "Sekaya? Could you give me a helping hand please?"

In contrast to my daughter, Sekaya leaves her chair in a graceful movement. "Of course."

And off they are like a whirlwind. The room they leave behind is filled with a silence tinted in melancholy which only age can cause when confronted with the spirits of youth.

Joseph scratches his chin. "Don't get me wrong, but I wonder if this is really a good idea and we don’t waste precious time and resources. She is an artist and well ..."

I lean back in my chair. Phoebe. The child who fought against mathematics and natural sciences with teeth and claws as if her life depends on it. But also the child who sees the world with eyes in a clarity I will never be able to. "Trust her. She knows what she’s doing."

Nechayev takes a sip from her cup. "I hope you are right, Professor."

 

 

 

=^=

**An hour later**

"Blackboards?" I stare at the bunch of Starfleet personnel who carry six huge black monsters and occupy apparently hopelessly lost the last remaining space in the briefing room.

Beside me Joseph bites back a laugh, while Nechayev leans back in her chair and gives me a long look. "I really hope you are right, Professor."

Inwardly cringing at the dooming disaster, I desperately try to relax again. Holy Pi, Phoebe, what are you doing? Thinking of the devil, the doors swish open and Sekaya and my daughter sweep into the room, both with a huge box in her hands.

"Alright, people." Phoebe puts the box on the desk. "Here is chalk, blackboard dusters and rags.” She reaches into Sekaya’s box and draws out a yellow square pile out of many thin paper layers. “In Sekaya's box you'll find post-its in all sizes and colors as well as thick pencils. In case you don’t know what they are...," she pulls down the uppermost layer, draws a beautiful flower with a few lines on it and sticks it to the wall, “Simple as that. Lovely tool from the 20th century. Tom Paris would certainly be delighted.”

Palming my face, I groan. Joseph's suppressed chuckles get more and more unsuppressed. I don't dare to meet Nechayev's eyes, but I hear her fingernails tip fast against the desk's surface.

"And you guys," ignoring our tension and turning away from us, Phoebe gives the uncomfortable looking men a smile, "fix three boards to each of this-," she points to the two side walls, "and this wall, please."

While the men obviously try to finish their work as fast as possible to escape the room as soon as possible, Phoebe takes a white chalk out of the box and plays with her fingers with it. "Alright everyone. Now here the rules..."

"Rules?" Nechayev says icily.

"Yes. Rules," responds Phoebe unmoved. "First, democracy. Each person is equal in her or his right to write down any idea. Second, only the most important facts - those facts we all agree are crucial to solve our problem - are written on one of the blackboards. Maybe we organize them according to topics, maybe not. We will see. Third, all other spontaneous ideas or hunches are first written on these post-its and sticked around the blackboards or any other available open surface. Since these post-its have also a 3-D function, you can build every hierarchical structure you want. Fourth, in regular intervals we discuss all notes together and decide whether to remove it or to keep it."

Crossing her fingers together, Nechayev's eyes fix my daughter. Even I have the urge to shrink away. "Tell me, Miss Janeway, what advantage is this primitive form of depiction supposed to have against any computer generated device?"

Phoebe throws the chalk in her hand into the air and catches it again with a huge grin. "Have you ever screwed up a PADD and thrown it into the corner, because you thought its content is nonsense, only to take it a few days later again into your hands, to unfold it the wrong way and find it absolutely stunning if you only change a minor detail? Creativity and inspiration don't work like computer generated devices, Admiral. Structure is in principle nice but sometimes working in a holistic way is more powerful. And if you are brave enough to try it this way, you might find out that the hands know things first before the brain does." She places the chalk on the desk before Nechayev like a weapon. "Are you brave enough, Admiral? Do you dare to evoke the creative string within you or are you scared like hell that it might carry something else along the way?"

"Do you really believe, Phoebe Janeway, that I ended up in this position without having solved some problems in a creative way?"

A dare, plus two stubborn woman staring challenging at one another, plus a chalk and six blackboards. Holy Pi. Where is this going to lead us?

 

=^=

**17 days later**

_ Day 175 (0743 hours) _

“Stardate 52280.5. Professor Janeway, status report. We’ve continued our research on the phenomena which are unique to the _Voyager_ simulation. While we were finally able to pinpoint all start and endpoints of the time-loops, we are still stuck with the issue of the so-called additional crew members. I am not sure what to make of it. From all what we know, their existence might be pure coincidence. After all, _Voyager_ was not the only vessel equipped with an EMH and in their situation it makes sense to have him almost permanently activated. Also friendly contacts which result in a few additional passengers would not be considered unusual if we were in the Alpha Quadrant. I think, if we only look close enough into the other simulations, we would surely find such additional crew members too. Maybe they have been falsely interpreted as guests or are hidden somehow. I hate to say it, but in my opinion this is one point where Nechayev is wrong and more research is only a waste of time - time that would be better used working on the bypass conduit to get them out of the simulation.”

Pausing, I stare out of the window, trying to massage my sore shoulders with one hand. Here we are again with the question of who is right and who is wrong - but this time it is within our own team. I can’t deny that the atmosphere between the five of us has become increasingly charged about this topic, all the more as we have been trading water with these additional characters ever since we started to dig deeper into the issue. But what if my own bias blinds me as Joseph has pointed out to me several times? What if Nechayev is right in this point too and my failing to be open enough is the reason why we haven’t come any further?

“Computer, delete the last sentence.”

Sighing, I walk towards the replicator. Usually, I enjoy a few minutes alone in _Voyager_ 's briefing room before everyone else turns up and a busy day begins again, but today feels already somehow like one of those depressing days, where you’d better never get up and stay in bed until the sun sets again.

“Coffee, black."

A cup materializes before me and instantly fills the room with the delicious savor of fresh roasted beans. Cradling the beverage in my hands, I turn away from the replicator and let my view run tiredly around the briefing room, which we have all left very late the night before.

Huge piles of all sorts of PADDs make the huge table look small. Inbetween them lay chalks and crayons as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Some post-it notes are on top of a few PADD piles, others stick to the wall and give the room a flair of a brightly colored flower field, while others are integrated into complex schemes on the blackboard. Chalk dust on the floor, on the desk, in the air. Simply everywhere. The chairs are placed randomly in the room and point carelessly in different directions like their tired owner had left them a few hours before. A rag lays on the floor near the entrance.

Phoebe calls it 'creative chaos' and no one has contradicted her so far. Nevertheless, we have been unexpectedly very productive the last few weeks and the blackboards have been filled with what we thought to be crucial facts. Although things have gone very smoothly, Nechayev decided six days ago out of the blue that creativity is reaching its limits. Needless to say that the transition of ‘creative chaos’ to ‘systematic approach’ didn’t work all too well. Against our wills and any logic Nechayev designated me, Phoebe and Sekaya to work on the problem with the additional crew members - something none of us thought of as a topic of high priority. As the team members with the most experience with Borg technology, she and Joseph were trying to get along with the mishmash of different alien technologies on which the simulation is based. In both projects the progress has been minuscule.

Taking a sip from the life-saving liquid, I glare at the blackboard summarizing all facts about the additional crew members, but the data doesn’t get any better the more I look at it.

“Computer, continue log. I think the line is difficult to draw who is supposed to fall under our definition of ‘additional crew member’ and who not. Nechayev suggested a very distinct definition: Children born to the crew seem to be a widespread phenomena through all the simulations. Since this is not unique to the _Voyager_ simulation, we have ruled out these cases from our definition. We have also ruled out temporary guests, who were traveling on board _Voyager_ for only a short time. These people were easy to distinguish from genuine ‘additional crew members’ or children born to the crew, as the guests didn’t have any personality patterns stored in the simulation. I think the assumption is justified that the guests are merely part of an experimental scenario. So, what does Nechayev define as a true ‘additional crew member’? First of all, they are part of the crew for a longer period of time. Second, this holds true especially for the adults, they fulfill a vital role on board. Thirdly - and this is the most important element - they all possess a neural pattern, where all that makes up a personality is stored. Except for the body lying outside the simulation in a stasis chamber, they are not distinguishable from the rest of the crew. The crew-members falling under this definition are:

Kes - staying from 2371 until 2374 including several time loops on board. She returned shortly in 2376 to Voyager. Since then her personality patterns are obviously deactivated and we couldn’t find any interaction with the simulation anymore.

Neelix - staying from 2371 until 2378 on board, also participating in several time loops. He left the ship to serve as an ambassador in the Delta Quadrant. His patterns are still active although their interaction with the simulation has lessened considerably.

Then there is _Voyager_ ’s EMH, who is still involved in the simulation.

Annika Hansen, the former Borg drone Seven of Nine - joined _Voyager_ in 2374, was part of several time loops and died in 2381, which again is part of the current time loop. Her patterns are currently in hibernation status.

Several Borg children joined in 2376, but only the patterns of Icheb are currently active. Computer, halt log.”

That’s it so far. Well, almost. Really devastating how few hard facts we were able to find out. Every time something promising showed up, it turned out to be not relevant or wrong or both. A frustrating business. Pinpointing relevant facts on these additional crew members feels like trying to catch wet soap in a shower. Maybe it is because there is nothing relevant to find, because they ARE irrelevant.

Wrapping my fingers more tightly on the still warm cup, I force myself to end the report, aware of my mood already getting dangerously bad.

“The only intriguing thing we found in the context of these additional crew members is that some of their personality patterns seem to destabilize. But then - also personality patterns of real crew members show signs of degradation. In my judgment, this too has to be considered as coincidence. Kes’ personality pattern has changed considerably over the time and shows strong signs of degradation which have some similarity to the degradation of Chakotay’s personality pattern. But her pattern degradation is distinctly different to the kind of degradation from Lt. Tuvok’s and Ensign Kim’s. In the case of Neelix this is not so clear. It looks like as if there is degradation in its beginnings. If this is the case, it too has similarities to the progress of Kes’s and Chakotay’s pattern destabilization. So far we were not able to find any symptoms of degradation in the patterns of the EMH, Seven or Icheb. On the whole, we have no clue why these additional crew members have come to existence in the simulation at all and if they are really important.”

Darn it! I give up. I am not even able to manage a meaningful report about this stuff. It really doesn’t make any sense to me, no matter how I look at it. Definitely a pointless trail we are following.

Slumping into one of the chairs and closing my eyes, I imagine sitting on one of the cosy benches home in the backyard flower garden while the morning sun warms my face. Home. It feels so far away, so long away, like from another life. So much has happened since I last enjoyed my coffee in the veranda, so much has changed. Are the lilies already in bloom? Has the neighbor’s cat finally fished the last frog out of the pond? And, have I closed the gate to the tool shed before I hurriedly left in direction of the badlands?

Heavens… I am so terribly tired of all this. Part of me simply wants to have never come in touch with this, Kathryn’s, cruel reality. Part of me wants to deny it, wants to plunk everything down. Part of me longs to ultimately retire home and to hide in my shrubbery where I can fade into a life in which the fate of my pond’s frog population is one of my worst problems.

The door’s soft hiss and silent footsteps pull me back. Someone coughs politely - a familiar female cough. Smiling, I open my lids and meet the intelligent eyes of Sekaya.

“Good morning, Gretchen. Are you well? You do look pale.”

“Morning. I’m fine. Just frustrated.”

“The additional crew members?”

I nod. “Mmmmh.”

Sekaya appears as if she is about to say something, but as the doors swish open and Admiral Nechayev enters the room, she merely shrugs, and reaching for a PADD, seats herself.

“Morning. Where is the rest?” Nechayev says with a harsh undertone.

Great. Seems like the extent of her bad mood is worse than mine. Excellent prospect for today. Trying to reign in my sarcasm, I also reach for a PADD. “Morning, Admiral. As I recall, we settled tonight to meet a little later at 0830. Currently it’s around 0825.”

As if on clue, the doors open again and Phoebe schleps herself like a zombie through it. As usual, she goes directly to the replicator to order a coffee.

“Good grief. Today I really won’t survive without this,” she says after her first sip. Returning with a lot waker eyes to the desk, she quickly surveys the situation in the room. “Oh nice. Another bad mood day.”

Frowning, Nechayev opens her mouth for a reply. Luckily she is interrupted by the doors’ opening, which reveal a tired looking but cheery Joseph balancing a huge plate. “Morning everyone! I thought you might be interested in some muffins.”

Despite the muffins, the morning drags on in the same depressing mood as it had started.

_“Tayashi to Nechayev.”_

Sighing at her aid’s interruption, Admiral Nechayev interrupts her work. “Nechayev here. What’s the matter, Carol?”

_“The forewarning system has announced a series of strong storms again. ETA two hours and forty eight minutes.”_

“Thank you. We will start with the usual procedure then. Keep me updated on any changes. Nechayev out.” With a loud exhale she leans back into her chair and eyes the rest of us closely. “We all need urgently a break anyway – even if it is only for a few hours. I want everyone to do something relaxing this afternoon and evening. And Professor?”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“This also holds true for you. No cracking, hacking, programming or anything else related to the simulation. Understand? I want you to return refreshed.”

Narrowing my eyes slightly, I spare me - and her - an answer. She holds my look for a moment and then turns towards Joseph. “Captain, could you assist me in backing up and securing all our data before the storm arrives?”

“Sure,” he nods and rises from his seat. “How about lunch, Gretchen?”

“Before or after the storms?” I say peeved, inwardly grumbling about Nechayev’s ordered chill-out time. “And only if you are the one who cooks.”

Obviously mightily amusing himself, Joseph scratches his bristly chin as if he needs to think about a really serious matter. “You are right, Gretchen. The storms might ruin the lunch and I’d hate to waste my time and cooking talent on a meal which might end up clashing against a bulkhead. How about dinner? And I’d say the earlier, the better. After all, someone needs to keep an eye on you or you might find yourself out of boredom illegally relaxing with one of the jibbing subroutines. I promise to be entertaining company.”

“You’d better are.” Growling, I too rise from my seat and don’t deny myself from hissing, “Traitor,” as I walk past him on my way to leave the room.

The doors luckily muffle his laughter before my mood touches zero in an exponential course. Strolling with the girls along the corridors, I already feel bored – simply out of principle. Free time. Who, bloody Pi, can afford free time while people are trapped in the simulation?

Out of habit we all end up in front of our quarters.

Phoebe winks at me. “Okay. Mom, you are under strict orders to relax today and to have an enjoyable dinner with Joseph in the evening. But what are you going to do until then? To mutiny or to relax? And what about you, Sekaya?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Very funny, Phoebe.”

Sekaya’s eyes twinkle suspiciously and I somehow get the vague feeling that if it had not been for Joseph coercing me into a dinner, she might have stepped in. Her voice, however, remains as cordial as ever. “Hmmm, I think I will visit the holo-gym before the storm arrives.”

My daughter’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, that sounds like fun!”

“You are free to join any time,” Sekaya smiles warmly.

“Thanks, maybe I will indeed join later. But first, I will use the time and try to reach Henry via subspace communication before communication is down for many hours... He told me yesterday that he will stay at home today with the dogs.”

I grin at my daughter. “Oh, give Henry a hug from me, will you? And tell my beloved son in law that if he dares to spoil my dog as he spoils his, he will never ever get near of one of my caramel brownies again.”

Phoebe laughs heartily. “I will. Tell me, what are you really going to do with your spare time, Mom?”

“I’ll probably read a book. And take a long shower. Have dinner with Joseph. Or the other way round.”

“Well, doesn’t sound too bad, does it? And you really could do with a bit more sleep. You worked far too much lately and you don’t get any younger, you know?”

Seeing my daughter’s concern in her eyes lessens my grudge considerably. “No Phoebe, it doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe I really will turn in to bed early today. Have fun, you two. See you tomorrow.”

“See you, Mom.”

“Have a nice day, Gretchen.”

As my quarter’s doors open before me and reveal the dreary sight of my temporary accommodation, the desire to feel welcome somewhere and at home again almost weighs me down.

With a sigh, I reach for the novel which has been on my reading list for what - months? - now. Of course, I have no idea where I stopped reading. Really great. Aimlessly browsing through the pages, I eventually finding myself staring at the blank wall instead at the text. What a senseless waste of time.

Sighing again, I close the book. What else could I do before the storms arrive? Maybe I should join the girls in the holo-gym. It could be even fun. Anyway, how long has it been that I have done a bit ballet together with one of my daughters?

It’s about time.

 

=^=

**53 minutes later**

 

„And hop-hop, hop-hop, down and up. And demi one and stretch. Towards the barre, lifting up, two demi plies, second. That’s a little too wide Janeway senior.”

Grunting annoyed while changing my feet’s position, I risk a short peak over the barre at our holographic instructor, who has continued to sashay along the part of the hologym which was turned into a ballet room.

“Slave driver,” I hiss.

Beside me, Phoebe starts laughing and bends elegantly backwards. “Mom, this is supposed to be fun.”

“If you say so.”

“Come on. Just enjoy the exercise and relax. You have been sitting around too much lately.”

“May I remind you that I recently have crawled through more Jefferies tubes than you did in your whole life?”

“That’s not difficult. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Jefferies tube from the interior before. Anyway, you will be released soon. I think the holodeck will be closed any minute.”

“... and down and up, little forward bend, ...”

“I wonder,” I mutter under my breath, following the trainer’s movements, “if they based this ballet instructor with his Napoleon complex on Admiral Hayes. They really have much in common.”

Phoebe breaks out in loud laughter. “Oh Mom…”

_“To all hands, here is Admiral Hayes. Prepare for the next series of ion-storms. ETA in 15 minutes.”_

“Speaking of the devil…,” she smirks, and reaching for her towel, she steps into the main area of the holo-gym. “If we are fast, we might even get a decent shower before the storms arrive. Ah, there is Sekaya.”

With her towel draped over her shoulders and a shirt wet from running laps, the young woman walks beside a few Starfleet officers in our direction, and although appearing to be deep in conversation, she sends us a smile when she becomes aware of our presence.

As the small group is about to leave the holodeck, Phoebe and I decide to join them. Behind us the faint hiss of a holoprogram shutting down announces that the station’s security procedure for higher-leveled ion-storms had begun. On our way through the floors, she mops her forehead with the towel and sighs. “When I am at home again, I swear, I’ll never complain about a thunder storm again.”

Quickly stepping aside as another group of Starfleet officers, this time in uniform, hurries past us, I sigh too. “Me neither. Hopefully this series of storms is not as bad as-”

A jolt which catapults me against a bulk head. Then a few others, lighter ones. I skitter along the floor. A bang. White, hot light. Heat, evaporating any sweat on my body. Steel screeching as if in pain, mixing with the screams of humans. Then all of a sudden everything stops and leaves only ghostly silence behind, only the crackling and sizzling of cooling material and some moans dare to interrupt. Smoke makes it impossible to see past a few meters.

I don’t know how long I lay on the floor with my ears still ringing from the bang before the strength to move returns again. Groaning, I climb slowly on my feet and with a head pounding like mad. Someone touches my shoulder, and as I turn around, I meet the worried eyes of a young man in uniform. “Are you alright?”

I cough. “I think. What the hell happened?”

Closing his fingers firmly around my upper arm, he drags me along the corridor, skillfully avoiding debris on the floor. “The ion-storm obviously was faster than expected. Several plasma-relay burst and we have a lot of casualties. Communications and transporters are offline.”

“My daughter?”

“Slender, curly hair and in gym-clothes like you?”

“Yes.”

“We found her already a few minutes before - she was looking for you but went the wrong direction. She is fine and taking care of the young woman who is your friend. They should be in sickbay already.”

“Oh my god, I hope Sekaya is not wounded?”

“Only minor plasma burns,” he replies and guides me around the corner, where the fog has lessened considerably and allows the view of a corridor crowded with people.

A woman my age in a science uniform and a tricorder in her hand, looks at our direction. “Glad you are back, Sam. We are about to transfer the most urgent cases to sickbay. Can you stay here with the rest? I trust you to take care of other incoming emergencies.”

The man beside me nods gravely. “I will give my best, Doctor.”

“I know you will,” she says, smiling encouragingly at him and then directs her eyes at me. “Do you feel well enough to walk alone to sickbay?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Then let’s not waste any time.”

 

 

Sickbay bustles like a beehive in an uproar and there is almost no place left to enter the room. A man immediately calls us upon our entry. “Doctor McGregor! Thank heaven, you are fine! We urgently need your help.”

Heaving a sigh, the elderly woman beside me reaches for the medical equipment he is handing her over. “Have you set up the triage already?”

“Yes, but we are hopelessly understaffed.”

She grits her teeth. “Darn. I feared as much. How about the emergency medical hologram?”

“It’s already doing its job,” the man responds.

Clenching her jaw, she walks to the biobed nearby and starts scanning the patient. “At least something is working.”

A few minutes later, I come upon Phoebe and Sekaya sitting on the floor and waiting for treatment, since Sekaya’s minor injuries are of less priority. Glad, that they appear otherwise fine, I join them to wait together and observe the turmoil around us, which only ebbs slowly.

Eventually, it’s our turn. With his medical tricorder in his hand and a very smug expression on the face, the EMH scans Sekaya’s arm. She moans in pain as he twists around her hand. Raising his eyebrow annoyed, the EMH reaches for a medical instrument. “These are in comparison only minor injuries. You should be happy.”

“I am,” says Sekaya through gritted teeth, keeping her eyes glued on him as if she was trying to evaluate every photon of his body - something she had already done during the whole time while we were waiting.

All of a sudden, the door to sickbay bursts open again and two man drag another, who is clearly badly injured, into the room. “Doctor! Emergency!”

As the EMH dashes away without having finished the treatment, Sekaya’s pensive look follows him for a long time, before she finally reclines back at the bulkhead with closed eyes, holding her injured arm.

Felt ages later, my comm badge chirps.

_“Amasov to Janeway.”_

“Oh dear, is it that late already?” I reach for my comm badge. “Janeway here. How far is dinner?”

_“If I have recycled the destroyed dishes and am as lucky as to find out where the storm has thrown at least one of my pots, then I’d be happy to start.”_

“That bad?”

_“I am sorry. I hope your quarters are in a better condition than mine.”_

“I have no idea. We’ve been in sickbay for the last few hours.”

_“Are you alright?”_

“I am fine apart from a few bruises, but it will take some time until Sekaya will be treated. Sickbay is overcrowded.” Phoebe’s elbow hits me hard into my rips and I shoot her an irritated glance. “What?”

“Go!” she whispers.

“Why on earth should I? ” I ask without lowering my voice.

Phoebe merely rolls her eyes. “Because Joseph might want some help with cleaning up and cooking,” she says in an exaggerated loud tone, grinning broadly.

I put my hands on my hips. “Phoebe, I am old enough to-”

_“I have to give your daughter credit, Gretchen. I could indeed do with a helping hand. The earlier we find the pots, the sooner we can eat.”_

Sending my daughter a glare, I stand up. “I am on my way. Janeway out. Phoebe. Mind your own things in future.”

Laughing, she reaches me my bag. “I do already, Mom. I really do.”

 

=^=

**A few hours later**

_ Day 176 (0054 hours) _

_"Phoebe Janeway to Margaret Janeway."_

With a grunt, I turn around in my bed and reach for the comm badge on my night table. The chronometer's digits glare at me like the glowing eyes of a nightly predator. 00:54. "Holy Pi. Phoebe. It's in the middle of the night."

The comm line remains dead for a few moments. "Sorry Mom, but Sekaya and I didn’t realize the time. Could you and Joseph please come to the briefing room? It's urgent."

Sighing, I toss aside my blanket and shrink back as the cold floor meets my cosy-needy bed-warm feet. I smother a violent yawn. "What happened?"

_"Sekaya has found something vital."_

Any tiredness evaporates immediately out of my body. “Vital? What exactly?”

_“We’d better talk over here. Could you pick up Joseph?”_

“Of course. Give me a few minutes. Janeway out.” Yanking off my night gown, I reach in the dark for clothes. “Janeway to Amasov.”

_“Mmmmfssss...?”_

Stifling a laugh, I slip into the trousers. “Get out of your bed, Joseph. We have work to do.”

_“Gnnnfsg.”_

“The girls have apparently found something important.”

A series of loud yawns tells me that Joseph’s consciousness has climbed one step closer in direction of getting awake. _“Gretchen ... are you kidding? It is past mid-night.”_

“Phoebe sounded very serious. I’ll wait in front of your quarters,” I say while already heading towards the doors.

 _“Hmmpf,”_ he confirms.

The line goes silent again.

A few minutes later, an absolutely in no talkative-mood looking Joseph emerges out of his quarters and I don’t dare to interrupt his brooding on our short walk through the station’s or _Voyager_ ’s corridors.

As the door of the briefing room swishes open for us, we are greeted by a desk overloaded with empty dishes and tons of new colored post-its pinned to and around the black-board which is dedicated to the additional crew members. Sekaya, who is about to add another post-it to the board, halts in her movements and sends us a splendid smile which totally contrasts the nightly hour. “You are fast. Thank you.”

Phoebe walks from the replicator to the table, balancing two bowls of steaming soup in her hand. “They’d better be. We should have kicked them out of their beds earlier. Anyway, midnight soup is ready.”

Lifting his eyebrows, Joseph reaches for a chair and slumps into it. “Your mother told me that you both have found something important. I’d say, it better be. Anyway, where is Admiral Nechayev?”

With her lips pressed together in concentration, Phoebe places the dishes on the table. “We were unable to contact her.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“We got the message that Nechayev is currently not available,” she says and hands Sekaya her bowl and a spoon over.

Joseph frowns. “Computer. Locate Admiral Nechayev.”

_“This information is not available.”_

“Weird. Computer. Why is this information not available?”

_“This information is restricted to clearance level 11 and above.”_

“Weird indeed,” he says, and, leaping out of the chair, he walks to the console nearby, “Let’s see if the computer spills out a better answer to this question.”

I join him at the panel and look over his shoulder as he keys in some commands. “Snatched Hayes’ new codes?”

“Margaret. Really. What do you think of me?” he says without interrupting his work.

“That this looks to me pretty much like Hayes’ codes.”

“Caught,” he laughs, “Of course they are. Hmmm. Interesting.“

“What?”

He turns around slowly and gives me a distinctive glance. “Nechayev is on the _Magellan_.”

I hold his view. “The _Magellan._ Again. And she veiled her current whereabouts.”

“Mmmh. I think this is no coincidence. Knowing Nechayev, it must be of relevance. Anyway, seems like we have to work without her for now ...,” he says slowly; the expression in his eyes matches my queasy feeling about this finding. “Computer, alert me when Admiral Nechayev is back on the station.”

Turning around to the table, Joseph claps into his hands. “Alright, Sekaya, Phoebe. What did you find out? Or do you want to wait after you have finished your midnight snack?”

Sekaya lays her spoon on the table looking positively uncertain. “No ... it’s fine. We only lost track of the time and got hungry...”

Phoebe gives her a soft squeeze in the under arm. “Just tell them what you told me. And then I will back it up with my own stuff, okay?”

Sighing, Sekaya meets our expectant view with a look on her face as if she is about to jump into very cold water. Straitening her shoulders, she takes a deep breath. "Neelix and Kes are no coincidental creations of the simulation. They are actually created by Chakotay and their purpose is to serve and protect him and his crew."

Not knowing where this is going to lead, Joseph and I share a short surprised glance and seat ourselves wearily. Reclining, Joseph puts the finger tips of his hands together. "Alright Sekaya. I am not that fast at this time of the day. Please elaborate."

The young woman shifts uneasily in her chair. "As you know, Chakotay and I are descendants from the rubber tree people, a people originally living in the rain forests on Earth. Some of my ancestors led a secluded life in forests like the rain forests on various planets almost until the 24th century. Others like my father left the forests, but always sanctified their beliefs and nature."

Joseph nods. "Go on."

"When I screened through my brother's personal log files, I found a note that he thought it very intriguing how similar Neelix's story of the Great Forest and the Guiding Tree resembles our own legends. I didn't pay much attention to this note at that time - after all, archetypes such as world trees tend to be motifs in many different peoples' and species' beliefs or legends. But this thought kept somehow nagging my spirit. So, when I came across other similarities, my eyes were open to them." Sekaya pauses, obviously still uneasy.

"Go on."

"Within the simulation, both Chakotay and Neelix have lost their home and their families in a war with another species. Both have a sister, whom they dearly love. In Neelix’ case it is Alixia, in Chakotay’s it’s me. Both love cooking and are very experimental when it comes to trying dishes. Both care for Captain Janeway’s physical well-being. And -," she takes another deep breath, "both are counselors to the crew in a more or less obvious way. But there is another, who cares for the crew in this subtle manner ... Kes. She too has many similarities to my brother’s history. Her people live very secluded and care also much for living creatures, especially plants. Like Chakotay, she can be a very soft spoken person which sometimes betrays her inner strength. And they both are spiritual in a broader sense.”

She pauses again for a few moments. “I know that Kes and Neelix ... don't exist in our reality. But they are of imminent importance in Chakotay’s reality. They serve as guides for _Voyager_ in this part of the galaxy. They care for the crew’s well being, physically and emotionally. My feeling tells me that they are guiding spirits, who manifest in the simulation's reality to protect my brother and his crew. And maybe they have arisen from Chakotay’s soul..."

Joseph presses his lips together, and with his eyes fixed on the young woman, he seems to weigh his words. “Sekaya ... I don’t want to lessen your observations and they do sound very intriguing, especially in the light that we have not yet found a satisfying explanation for these additional crew members. However, as much as I like this idea, this could all be mere coincidence. You are right that there are many similarities. But then – many people have lost their beloved ones in a war. Many people are spiritual or soft-spoken. Many people are good listeners. These are not uncommon characteristics. And you have to consider that Kes and Neelix are not the only additional characters in the simulation. There is also the EMH, Seven of Nine, as well as several Borg children including Icheb - and they don’t share these qualities."

“I know,” she says silently. “That’s why I haven’t spoken about it yet. Until now.”

“What has happened to change your opinion then?” Joseph asks.

Instead of an answer, she rolls up one of her sleeves, exposing a huge fresh and not yet fully healed scarf on her left arm which looks way better than the nasty wound from this afternoon. Sekaya smiles a tired smile. “This, Joseph. I don’t know how much Gretchen told you of today’s accident.”

“Not much,” I answer instead of him. “We were pretty occupied by clearing up the mess in our quarters.”

Sekaya nods. “A plasma conduit burst during a strong shockwave and many people nearby got burned, some pretty badly. Sickbay was already overcrowded when we arrived and the personnel was unable to cope with the amount of other incoming emergencies. That’s why they decided to activate the station’s EMH, which happened to look like the EMH on _Voyager_.”

“Yes, the station is also equipped with an EMH Mark One. Section 31 transferred it from one of the captured vessels,” confirms Joseph.

“Well, what I became aware of while I was waiting for a treatment, is that he differs from _Voyager_ ’s EMH.”

“In what respect?” he asks.

“I find it difficult to verbalize, but in my opinion he acted and behaved differently.”

“This isn’t a surprise to me. _Voyager_ ’s EMH had many years to expand his personality routines and to develop a better bedside manner – although from what I have seen in the simulation, there is still much room for improvement.”

Sekaya shakes her head very determined. “No Joseph. It is more than this… As I said, I can’t verbalize it properly, but to me he appeared like another person. I mean a completely other person. Definitely not like an original, raw version of _Voyager_ ’s EMH before he started to evolve. When my treatment was finished in sickbay, I immediately returned here with Phoebe and recalled the data of the first few times when the EMH was activated on _Voyager_ within the simulation in order to check this thought.”

Phoebe steps in. “She was right. They are different, although it might be not immediately apparent. You can verify it yourself later, if you want. Anyway, we thought that if there is a connection between Chakotay, Kes and Neelix - maybe there is also a similar connection between Kathryn and the EMH.” Pausing, she gives Joseph and me an eager look.

I don’t have to glance to Joseph in order to know what he is most probably thinking. Searching for the right words, I meet my daughter’s eyes. “Phoebe … don’t get me wrong, but don’t you think you both have interpreted too much into a few things?”

Raising from her chair, Phoebe walks a few steps into the room and turns around. "Okay. Mom, Joseph. I know how odd that might sound to you. Actually, when Sekaya asked me if there were any similarities between Kathryn and the EMH or even Seven and Icheb, I too found it weird and didn't pursue the idea in the beginning. But after a few random searches in the data, I stumbled over a certain Klingon drinking song."

I stare at my younger child. "Don't tell me that ..."

She interrupts me with a short wave of her hand and reaches for the console nearby. "Yes. It is the same song dad used to humor us after his encounter with the Klingon diplomats. The song itself wouldn't be very exciting since it is very popular, but what was to me almost like a slap into the face, was who sings it and what else they sing on other occasions." Pressing a button, the console's screen comes alive and reveals the EMH and Seven of Nine in a festive setting; their voices fill the air with the harsh tunes of a familiar Klingon song.

Joseph clears his throat. "As you said it is a popular song and therefore could be another coincidence. However, I don't think we would sit here, if that would be the case, am I right? What else do you two have up your sleeves?"

Sekaya and Phoebe’s proud smile could enlighten a small ball room. My daughter tilts her head with a cheeky grin. "Well, you mean apart from the fact that all three share a certain affinity to science and are famous for their ability to think on their feet? It's not the only song the EMH or Seven sing, which have a connection to Kathryn. Listen."

The EMH’s warm tenor sounds through the room. “ _Rock-a-bye baby, in the space dock. When the core blows, the shuttle will rock. When the hull breaks, the shuttle will fall. And down will come baby, shuttle and all.”_

Joseph starts laughing. “That’s one hell of a lullaby. Where is the connection to Kathryn?”

Phoebe and my view lock shortly, then she too starts laughing. “Dad used to sing it to us when we were little. And Mom regularly got pretty furious, because she thought it would scare us to death.”

I shrug. “Well, ultimately it always had been me - and not Edward - who had to calm the two of you down after his pranks. At least you found his favorite Klingon lullaby 'quong vaj Ocht’ funny.”

Phoebe gets again serious. “The ‘Sleep, little warrior’ song is also the EMH’s favorite lullaby.”

My mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Are there more connections?”

She sighs. “Yes Mom. Lean back and listen.”

Following her suggestion, I lean back and close my eyes. Melodies, carrying memories of happy days around a cosy camp fire, warm my heart. 'You are my sunshine', 'My darling Clementine', ‘I’ve been working on the railroad’ and many other songs, all sung either by the EMH or Seven, or both together. Followed by a fine selection of opera music from Verdi, Puccini and all the other great masters – the same music my mother, Kathryn’s grandmother, used to listen for hours and hours. ‘La Donna e mobile’. ‘Questa o quella’. ‘Dio, che nell’aima infodere’. ‘O, Suave Fanciulla’. Just to name some.

Is it then when I stop questioning that there is a connection between the EMH and Seven to Kathryn? Or is it, when the first soft tunes of 'Rondine Al Nido' begin? I can't help a bitter lump forming in my throat. My mother’s favorite song – the song she had wished to be played at her funeral.

"Oh dear," I whisper, tears dwelling out of my closed lids, running warm and moist along my cheeks.

“Yes,” says Phoebe, her voice thick of emotion. “And there is even more.”

Almost two hours and several coffees later, there is no need to convince neither me or Joseph any further. Too many fitting songs to be merely a coincidence.

Joseph paces the room. “Alright everyone. Assuming this to be true, then we should find evidence that the patterns of Kes and Neelix ultimately originate from the _Valjean_ simulation, similar to Chakotay or any other crew member from the _Valjean_.”

I nod. “That’s correct. In this case they must be solely stored there. The same principle must also apply to the EMH and Seven - their patterns should be stored only in the data of the _Voyager_ simulation. I have no idea where to put Icheb and the other Borg-children though. Anyway, this shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.”

“I really wonder,” Sekaya says quietly, “why haven’t we ever checked this before? After all we were working with the patterns for quite a while already.”

“Prejudice blinds.” Joseph stops in his pacing and sends me a knowing look. I damn know he is right, but that doesn’t makes me feel any less guilty now. What a waste of time. He reaches for the computer nearby. “Okay everyone, let’s start asking the right questions.”

A few taps into the keyboard later, we all stare open mouthed at the data on the view screen before us.

Phoebe lets out a low whistle. “Sekaya, I guess, you just have catapulted us on the next level. Congratulations.”

Beaming like a sunrise, Sekaya blushes. “Thank you. But do I interpret the data correctly that the Borg children are stored in both simulations?”

Joseph frowns. “Hmmm. It definitely looks like that. Anyway, before we jump to any conclusions, we’d better double-check the data.” As the recalculated data reappear, he shakes his head with a surprised expression. “Stored in both simulations. If we follow tonight’s line of thoughts, this could mean that the Borg children stem from both Chakotay AND Kathryn.”

Phoebe scratches her neck absent minded. “So the hypothesis is now that Chakotay has somehow created Kes and Neelix, Kathryn has created the EMH and Seven, and both apparently have created the Borg children together? How did they do that? And why?”

Shutting down the view screen, Joseph starts again pacing the room. “Good question. I think the ‘why’ can be more easily explained. Maybe they are, as Sekaya has indicated, auxiliary characters. From all what we know from the character and their role on board _Voyager_ so far, it might be indeed an explanation. But whatever they are, they must have been created by Kathryn and Chakotay on an unconscious level. I think this highlights again the question what exactly is so special about Kathryn and Chakotay as captains. After all, no other captain was able to create such auxiliary characters.”

Tiredly, I follow his restless pacing for a while, trying to sort my thoughts. “You know, in a way also the pattern degradation of some of these additional crew members could make some sense now.”

Joseph halts in his movements. “How?”

“Well, for the first time I see the hint of an explanation why the degradation from Kes and Neelix are so similar to those from Chakotay, but differ from that of other crew members. It also fits into this picture that Kathryn’s patterns and the ones from the EMH and Seven are still stable. But there are still a lot of questions-”

A faint chirp interrupts me.

_“Admiral Nechayev is on board the station, transporter room three, section D.”_

Joseph raises his eyebrows. “Interesting.”

Phoebe curls her lips. “It’s past 0300. I bet my ass that she doesn’t just return from a late rendez-vous. And I bet my ass a second time that there is something going on what is of great interest to us.”

“Maybe now is the right time to get some answers from her,” I say slowly.

Joseph scratches his beard stubbles. “Maybe you are right. Anyone volunteering to interrogate the intrepid Admiral Nechayev on this?”

Why the hell is everyone looking at me now?

 

=^=

**A few minutes later**

She doesn’t see me as she hastens around the corridor’s corner; pale and with a troubled, worn out expression in her face, obviously deeply in thought. Heavily stricken - that’s the first association that crosses my mind and the contrast to the usually bossy and alert woman worries me more than I want to admit. Taking a deep breath, I step out of the doorway where I have been waiting for her to pass by.

Time to rattle the snake.

“The _Magellan,_ ” I say quietly into the corridor’s silence. “I think it’s time for the truth. And I’m _not_ going to leave until I heard everything.”

She stops so quickly in her movements as if she has clashed against an invisible barrier. Balling her fingers to a fist, she spins around with a furious glitter in her eyes - gone is the devastated looking woman, back is the admiral ready to strike. “You do indeed have a bad habit of sticking your nose into things which are none of your business, Professor.”

“As I recall, this is one of the reasons why you hired me - sticking my nose into other people’s business. And believe me, I would be glad, if your business on the _Magellan_ is of no concern to me. My gut, however, tells me otherwise.” Folding my arms over my chest, I meet her glare probably with equal, cold fury, nurtured by the primal, parental instinct to rescue my child.

She doesn’t stand a chance. I know it and she seems to soon recognize that too.

Her jaw clenches. “Not here.”

Without bothering to ask whether I would follow her or not, she walks briskly along the corridors in a tempo so fast that I have difficulty keeping pace. Equally briskly, she keys in the codes to her quarters and steps wordlessly into a simple but tastefully furnished room.

“You’d better take a seat, Professor,” she says, while fetching two glasses and a bottle, which looks suspiciously like vodka. “The truth?” she snorts and fills the two glasses half full, ignoring my raised eyebrows, “Well, Professor, I’ll keep it short: Ransom and I were once very close. And Captain Natalija Dubois was my younger half-sister. You know Rudy’s story, so I won’t elaborate that. My sister took over the _Magellan’s_ command from Captain Conklin when he died during the Caretaker-simulation. For different motivations both relationships in my life were kept a secret, but they both are dead for the same reason. The simulation.”

Still standing, she raises her glass to a toast and knocks it back in one go.

I stare at her. Holy shit. What a mess.

Following her example, I too reach for the vodka; the liquid burns hot down my throat, and suppressing the urge to cough, I put the glass firmly back on the table. Nechayev refills both again immediately.

“You’re right, Admiral, I’m familiar with the _Equinox’s_ fate but not with that of your sister’s ship. What happened to the _Magellan_? It is a galaxy class ship if I remember correctly.”

“It is. Half of the crew didn’t survive the transfer to the simulation, including most of the senior staff, meaning over 500 people died within a few moments in the Caretaker Scenario. Including civilians, children.” She pauses, looking as if she has aged ten years within seconds. ”As chief medical officer, Natalija was not on the bridge during the transfer and together with the Chief Engineer and Transporter Chief she was the only survivor of the senior staff. Natalija was a passionate woman, experienced in leading a small scientific and medical team, but completely inexperienced in leading a vessel this size, let alone under such conditions. She gave her best. Fought until the last minute a battle she could never win. After 15 months of struggling through the Delta Quadrant with permanent attacks, always lacking food and resources, they were finally ambushed by the Viidians.”

A thick and heavy veil engulfs my heart. They didn’t even stop their experiments at children. With an exhaustion rarely felt in my life, I lean back in my chair, not holding back the tears as the sharp edge of grief for the senseless suffering of so many people cuts deep into my soul. I’ve seen _Voyager’s_ video tracks with the Viidians. There really is no appropriate response left.

Nechayev’s features harden and she hisses, “Pity is the last thing I want from you now, Professor.”

Jumping on my feet, I hit my fist furiously on the table. “For heaven’s sake - it’s enough! I am really sorry for you if you are not even able to distinguish pity from compassion.”

Numb silence makes itself at home in Nechayev’s quarters. The minutes pass by as we stare at each other like cats - no one willing to give in an inch. Finally Nechayev throws her hands up into the air. “This is leading to nothing.”

“I know,” I respond icily.

“Then we’d better sit down and start all over again.”

“Sounds fine,” I say without moving.

She narrows her eyes, then grabs for a seat and sits down. Slowly, I follow her example.

“So, on your visits to the _Magellan_ , you were trying to figure out what had happened to your sister,” I state the obvious.

Leaning back in her seat, she interlaces her fingers. It’s impossible to decipher the meaning of the gaze she gives me this time. “No,” she finally says in a low tone.

“No?”

“No,” she repeats, reaching for her glass and taking a few sips from it. “Though, at first yes. Since I was working with the _Voyager_ simulation, I was aware of Rudolf’s fate. But I was unable to find any peace of mind until I knew what had happened to Natalija.”

“So the side-effect of glancing into your sister’s simulation was that you had for the first time a comparison to the _Voyager_ simulation and you were hooked by the differences.”

“Something along this line. When I found the time loops in the _Voyager_ simulation, I screened for any loops in the _Equinox_ simulation before it had fused with the _Voyager_ simulation. No time loops. I searched in the _Magellan_ simulation and then in others. Still none. At some point during my research, I became aware that there is something very special with Janeway and Chakotay, but I couldn’t pinpoint it down then. Actually, I still can’t. Other observations followed and I decided to pull strings to get you and captain Amasov into the team.”

Again, a few moments of silence pass between us. “But that’s not the reason why you are currently visiting the _Magellan_.”

“No.” Her fingers play with the glass in her hand. “I think I have figured out a possibility how to extricate neural patterns from the simulation and to transfer them into a holographic body.”

“What? How? Why didn’t you-?”

With a wave of her hand she stops my question. “I can’t answer everything at once, especially if you interrupt me every second sentence.”

Clenching my teeth together, I growl, “Alright, I’ll try to be patient. Please continue.”

“First of all, if things had been so clear-cut, I would have informed you long ago. But they aren’t. On the contrary. We are going to have to solve a major ethical dilemma, if we continue with my work.”

“Ethical dilemma? Why?” As I see her raised eyebrows, I lift my hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I am silent. For now.”

“Great,” she says, with an ironic undertone. “I’d better start at the beginning before we consider the ethical dilemma. The idea how to tackle the issue with the neural patterns was inspired from the work of _Voyager_ ’s EMH. There was an occasion where he was forced to transfer the neural patterns of a Vidiian woman into a holographic body in order to save her real one. This transfer is a comparably easy procedure, if you already have a singled-out neural pattern at hand. We, on the other side, face the problem that to a certain degree the neural patterns are tightly interwoven with the simulation itself. For these interwoven parts of the patterns it is almost impossible to distinguish what belongs to the pattern and what is the matrix of the simulation. But luckily, it’s only almost impossible.”

She gives me a distinctive look. “Because if we knew how the *whole* neural pattern of a person looked before he or she was implemented into the simulation, we could use it as a reference point for our search and the subsequent extraction. It is standard medical procedure to keep a neural pattern in the medical files of most Starfleet personnel. But what about non-Starfleet crew members? Anyway, the simulation’s initiation procedure proved to be very helpful in answering this question.”

I sit upright in the chair. “Oh my god. The initial screening of the simulation before they were finally implemented!”

She nods. “Correct. The screens indeed contained detailed neural patterns. Actually, complete neural patterns, since the simulation aimed to connect the whole personality with the program. For my next steps, I didn’t dare to work on an active simulation, therefore I choose the one from the _Magellan_. It took me a while, but I was finally able to bypass the security codes which protected the location where the screening-pattern of my sister was stored. This was a few days before you arrived at the station.”

She leans back in her chair, starting to play with her glass again. “However, it presented me for the first time with the dilemma that while my sister’s body might have died, her patterns - the initial screening pattern, but also the one I wanted to extract from the simulation - are still existent. In a way that makes her still alive, because if the extraction from the simulation works and I am able to transfer her pattern to a holographic body, her neural patterns, her personality, virtually everything except her body would be revived again. She would not only remember what had happened to her in the simulation, she would also realize that she had been the victim of a brutal experiment.” She pauses. “What would you have done, Professor, knowing that this might be one of the rare chances for _Voyager_ ’s crew?”

My mouth feels horribly dry. What a terrible decision to be made.

Nechayev carefully places her glass back on the table. “I spare you an answer, Professor. Natalija was a medic at heart. She would have volunteered if I’d had the chance to ask her. Therefore, I continued, trying to use all safety precautions I was able to think of. I made a back-up copy of her screening pattern so that I wouldn’t harm the original one. I also duplicated all data of the whole _Magellan_ simulation. I was exclusively working with copies. My first attempts to separate Natalija from the simulation failed completely several times. I was forced to change the strategy and developed a procedure to amplify and reverse her initial screening pattern. The idea was to use it as kind of a hook - comparable to a huge magnet which is strong enough to pull out the needle from an hey stack. I tried it on a small fragment of the simulation and was able to detach her pattern out of it.”

I am on my feet again. “Holy Pi! Don’t you think that his would have been of vital interest for us all? Why the hell haven’t you told anyone?”

She remains almost provokingly calm. “As I told you before, this is no simple matter. Apart from the fact that this project is in its infancy and that there is still a long way to go before we can safely extract a pattern from an active simulation and transfer it back to its respective owner in the stasis chamber, this poses also the question, what to do with the patterns of people who have died within the simulation. Think about it. Who to revive and who not? Everyone? People like Seska? And then? How do you think they all will cope with a holographic body? Where do they live? Are they restricted to a holographic environment or do they depend on a mobile emitter until the end of what? Their holographic lives? Do you think we are any better than Section 31, if we don’t consider the ethical consequences of our doings?”

“With all due respect, I think that the questions you ask yourself are way ahead of our current problem. THIS is not the situation we are currently facing. We may face these questions later, if we have the luxury to consider them at all. In the meantime, we need to get Kathryn’s crew out of this damn simulation as fast as possible. People, who still are alive and in the possession of a body! It sounds like, you might have found out how to retract a small pattern fragment. Therefore it makes it paramount to improve your procedure and to develop it past the infancy stage.”

“I am aware of all this, Professor.” With a sigh, Nechayev closes her eyes; tiredness clouds her voice as she starts speaking again after a short pause. “I assigned you to the issue of the additional crew members, because there was no need to use your capacity on this matter. I have been already working together with Natalija on such a improvement for weeks now. My intent was to inform everyone on this issue after we were successful. Natalija even suggested to keep her existence a secret until-”

“Wait!” I stare at her open mouthed. “Natalija?!?”

And there it is again - the devastated look in her eyes, the worn-out expression in her face. “Yes. As I said before, the transfer of a neural pattern into a holographic body is actually no problem. The main problem is - as always in such cases - that Natalija’s pattern usually starts degrading after approximately a week.”

“Usually? You revived her _more_ than one time?”

Pressing her lips together, she nods. “It is Natalija’s declared wish to continue her work. Each time, shortly before her patterns are irreparably degraded and she … dies, she records a message for herself with instructions and stores any information for a later download in her holomatrix. I don’t know exactly what else she tells herself, because I always leave the holodeck when she plays the record, but after my return, her new self - derived from a copy from the extracted pattern and updated with the stored data - is normally already screening through her previous work. “ She swallows hard. “Today, I had to restart the current hologram again.”

I slowly seat myself again. “This … is hard to believe. Who else knows about this all?”

“You are the first to be informed. Anyway, since I have told you now, you might as well meet my sister tomorrow and convince yourself on the progress. She has already found a solution how to transfer extracted patterns back into the bodies again. Currently, Natalija is searching on the _Magellan_ ’s holodeck for a way to create a stable bypass conduit. It seems she already has some ideas. However, there are still a lot of open questions. The most crucial problem is certainly that the extraction for a living crew member out of an active simulation is far more difficult than for a dead crew member out of a terminated simulation. But I guess we’d better talk about this tomorrow in detail with Natalija. Now, Professor, you more or less know the truth.”

I really should stop wondering about the turn of events. A dead woman alive as a hologram and trying to help other victims to get out of the simulation. Of course, behind Starfleet’s back. Holy Pi. Hayes will have his fun with us when he gets wind of this.

On the other hand this ‘mess’ could be THE chance for Kathryn and her crew.

Slowly, I reach for my glass and lift it to a toast. “Gretchen. Friends call me Gretchen.”

She hesitates.

“Alynna.” Raising too her glass, she takes a sip. “By the way. Didn’t I order you to rest and relax? Why on earth were you still on your feet when I returned?”

I almost choke on my vodka. The auxiliary characters. Darn. I forgot to tell her! “Well, Alynna, I think I too need to tell you some things …”

 

=^=

 **A few hours later**  


“We are drunk,“ Alynna slurs, her hand missing the almost empty vodka bottle and landing with a thud on the table. “Shit.”

I start giggling and wag my finger in front of her face. “You’re wrong Admirrrrral... Admiral. We’re only in an ethanolic disinhibited state.”

“When you are right, Professor… you are right”

“Profound logic.”

“We should have pity on this little bit of vodka.” Fully concentrated she gives it another attempt to grab the fugitive bottle. And fails miserably.

I break into uncontrollable laughter until my forehead comes to lie on the table. Somehow my head is too heavy to laugh and to keep it upright at the same time. Slowly sliding my arm along the table, I try another strategy to capture the vodka.

The bottle’s glass feels pleasantly solid in my hand.

“Have it!” I cry rejoicingly. “Want a gulp, Lynna?”

She responses with a snore - one of those untamed snores which peel the paint off the wall. Gathering my last strength, I lift my head from the table. With her head bent back in her chair and her mouth open, Alynna doesn’t look very admiral like.

„Conggg… Congratulations, bottle. Not many can claim to have triumphed over Admiral Nechayev.”

I swear, the bottle grins back.

Well, then it is obviously on me to take the last sip. It doesn’t even burn anymore.

After the fourth try the chair finally lets me go, but somehow the floor seems to pull me down more than usual. Gravity. Time we both have a serious word. “You know, you might be a fundamental … stuff within physics. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have to behave properly.”

The room stops spinning. Ha!

On my way to the turbolift I recognize for the first time, how badly built this station is. No one seems to have cared to put up the walls straight. I shake my head, which is a bad idea, because things start spinning again. At least the turbolift seems to work and I step into it.

“Take me home.”

_Unable to comply._

“Holy Pi. You are broken too, are you?”

_Unable to comply. Please rephrase your question._

Leaning my shoulder on the wall, I sigh. “Home. Margaret Janeway’s home. Temporarily.”

The lift starts moving.

Finally having arrived in my quarters, I struggle to get rid of my clothes.

Where the hell is my nightgown? Darn. I slump into my bed without bothering to undress further. Why the hell had the bed become so small? Geee… and now it complains that it is its bed. Ha!

I pat the cover. “A bed can’t be its own bed.” Pondering my new insight into the depths of cosmic order, I snuggle into the blankets and kick the annoying barrier.

A thud. Now I have space enough. I sigh satisfied.

“Ouch,” cries the bed. It seems to be annoyed. “You’re drunk Margaret.”

Did I ever tell it my name before? I giggle again. “I’m not drunk. I’m only ethanolically disinhilll…,” I pause, concentrate. “Disinhibited.”

Stroking over the covers, a sudden feeling of affection spreads through me. “Did I ever tell you that you are a good bed?”

The bed sighs in response. “No. I guess not.”

“You are.” I really should have told it this before. It is a good bed. Really. Yawning violently, I drag the blanket over my head.

“Ummm. Thanks for the compliment. I think. Good night, Margaret.”

“Night.”

I’ve never been aware how polite my bed is. I should keep it.

 

=^=

**The next morning**

Someone sings in the shower Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy‘. Passionate. Loud.

And completely off-tune.

Joseph!!!

My head pounds as if I had a crash with a shuttle and my tongue resembles an ancient Andorian carpet. Dry, thick and raspy.

Lord. Please let him stop singing. Turning to my left in direction of the bathroom door to shout at him costs me a lot of effort. Except that there is no door but a plain wall.

And not my night table.

Certainly also not my clothes hanging over the chair in the corner.

Holy. Pi.

In a movement too fast for my present condition and almost causing me to throw up, I sit up.

Joseph’s quarters. I’m in Joseph’s quarters.

Why I’m in Jose-? Oh my god. The talking bed.

Talking.

Bed.

Joseph. I was talking to Joseph and … oh dear. The thud. I must have kicked him out of his own bed. Have I?

Heavens. What have I done? My brain is too fogged to get a clear thought. Wearily I try to get out of the bed and realize that I’m solely in my underwear.

“She gave us kisses and wine and a friend loyal unto death; she gave lust for life to the lowliest, and the Cherub stands before God.” Sounds from the bathroom in almost sickening off-tunes.

 _Kisses and wine. Lust._ Oh my god. What else did _we_ do?

My clothes. Starting with a frantic search, I stumble through his quarters and finally find them carefully placed on another chair. From the little I recall from the previous night, it had certainly not been me who had done that.

Closing my eyes, I palm my face; rarely have I felt such a degree of embarrassment in my life.

I can’t face him right now. Not with this hangover and in this state of mind. Nearly panicking I start to dress and almost dash out of the main door … and stop mid-track. Darn.

Phoebe stands in front of my quarters with her hand about to push the chime. On seeing me she slowly lowers her arm and stares at me for a few seconds, before she recovers again. "Mom, I don't really want to know anything about your sex life, but please, next time use the joint bathroom. It would have been more discreet."

I stare at her. “Phoebe.” Then considering our current location, I drag her into my quarters. The shower has gone quiet.

Sighing I face my daughter. “Phoebe. Nothing had happened. I just got drunk with Alynna and took the wrong room.” Hopefully nothing had happened.

She eyes me closely. “And that’s why you sneak out of his quarters? Because _nothing_ had happened?”

“I …”

Phoebe lifts an eyebrow. Great. Now I’m scrutinized by my own daughter. My head starts pounding again.

A knock on my bathroom door makes me cringe. Not a chime. An old-fashioned knock. Joseph.

My heart sinks to my boots. Phoebe squeezes my arm gently and her voice is soft, lacking her usual sarcasm. Obviously I must look as positively frightened as I feel.

“Mom, don’t be silly. He likes you very much. That is obvious. And you do like him very much too, which is equally obvious.”

“Phoebe…”

“You deserve to be happy, Mom. Joseph is truly a good man. Not like those two jerks you had a few years ago. And I would be very happy for you both, if you decide to enter a relationship.”

“Phoebe…”

She kisses my forehead; her eyes sparkling with affection and mischief, before she turns around and shouts to the bathroom door. “Come in Joseph!”

I palm my face. “Oh god.”

Stroking my arm, she whispers, “I love you too, Mom. It’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”

The doors swish open and Joseph enters, shooting the two of us an unsettled glance. “Morning.”

Straitening her shoulders, Phoebe nods. “Morning, Joseph. I’m going now. See you both later in the briefing room.”

Silence stretches between us like a chewing gum after her departure.

“I’m sorry.” - “I slept on the couch.” We say almost simultaneously.

He’d slept on the couch. Of course he had. Oh god. This is so … embarrassing.

“Thank you.” I heave a sigh. “Joseph, I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to cause you so much discomfort.

“Margaret.” Biting his lips, he averts his gaze and runs his fingers through his hair, before he meets my eyes again. We look long at each other, the air between us suddenly charged with unspoken meaning.

“Margaret, you haven’t caused any discomfort. And you are welcome. Even when you are drunk and kick me out of my bed.”

Holding his gaze, I swallow. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. Now, what do you think of croissants and coffee. Or maybe a boiled egg with –“

I’m lucky to manage it to the toilette and not to throw up directly on his feet.

I swear. Never. Again.

Warm hands brush my hair out of my face and gently stroke my back while I pour out the last remnants of my stomach. “I guess that’s the signal for me to get a detox-hypo.”


	9. Time's Up

**A few hours later**

_ Day 176 (1027 hours) _

 

“Oh, you are already back, Alynna? You’ll be delighted over tonight’s progress. I managed to create a stable bypass conduit. Want to see the test simulations?” says a dark haired woman without tearing her look away from the computer she is working on.

“I brought guests, Natalija,” says Alynna quietly instead of an answer as she steps into the holodeck.

The woman halts in her movements, and slowly turning around, she regards us with lively and intelligent eyes. If one knows of her relationship to Alynna Nechayev, then the similarities between the half-sisters are more than obvious. “I see, you told them. In that case, welcome on board the _Magellan_. I am acting captain Natalija Dubois, as you surely are already aware.”

I extend my hand. “Prof. Margaret Janeway. Please call me Gretchen. This is Captain Joseph Amasov, Sekaya and Phoebe Janeway, my younger daughter.”

“Nice to meet you. I am not going to pussyfoot around. How much do you know of my work already?”

Alynna joins her sister at the console. “Not too much. I only told them that you are working on the bypass conduit and that you have already found a way to transfer the patterns back to the bodies. You said you managed to create a stable bypass conduit?”

Natalija grins. “Yes. Want a demonstration?”

“Umm, wait please,” interrupts Sekaya, sharing an insecure glance with Phoebe. “Before you continue, would you please be so kind and explain Phoebe and me, what exactly is important about the bypass conduits? We’ve never understood this concept entirely.”

“Of course.” Leaning with a hip at the console and scratching her neck, Natalija seems to search for the right words. “Hmmm. Well, normally if someone dies within a simulation, the system disconnects the body from the neural patterns - the consequence is that the body dies because of a neural shock. This is different in case of a time loop. Somehow the people’s patterns are not entirely disconnected from the system but kept in kind of a standby buffer. Once the time loop ends and the simulation continues at the starting point, the person’s patterns are reactivated again from the standby buffer and continue to be part of the simulation as if nothing had ever happened. So far clear?”

“Yes. But I still don’t understand why we need the bypass conduits at all. Why don’t we apply the hook thingy Gretchen was talking about directly in the standby buffer and extract the pattern from there?”

Natalija’s face lights up. “This is indeed a good question, Sekaya. You see, in the standby buffer the simulation still has access to the patterns of the dead crew members and an extraction is unfortunately impossible under these conditions. Therefore we aim to transfer the patterns into the bypass conduit where similar to the standby buffers the patterns are still embedded into the simulation, but not under its control anymore. Since this state is very close to a terminated simulation, we should be in the position to extract the patterns from there.”

“I think, now I got it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” smiles Natalija and turns around to her sister, her eyes sparkling proudly. “Alright. Before I demonstrate to you how the bypass conduit works and how we extract a neural pattern, you all need to know how simulations are terminated. There are many reasons why a simulation might shut down, such as all crew members are killed or a vessel reaches the Alpha Quadrant.”

Joseph, who had been listening intently, lifts his head in surprise. “There were simulations where the crew reached the Alpha Quadrant? I was not aware of this.”

“Me neither,” I say, equally surprised.

“Yes, in fact two crews, one Ferengi and one Romulan, and believe me you don’t want to know anything about the circumstances of how they got back. Anyway, all the violence was of no use to them. Once they reached the Alpha Quadrant, the shut down sequence was triggered and everyone died as the simulation was terminated.”

Natalija sighs, visibly struggling to remain composed. After a few moments, she takes a deep breath. “What is important for us in this context is the following: Shortly before a simulation is terminated and everyone who happens to be still alive is killed, the simulation enters a shut down sequence which lasts a few hours. During the shut down sequence the simulation loosens the control over everything. If you happen to be a crew member in the simulation at this time and would witness the shut down sequence, it would look like that your universe suddenly ceases to exist and additionally, one after another of your colleagues vanishes without a trace. This happens when the simulation decouples the crew members from the system to store the data for later analysis and kills them in the process.”

Pausing again, she swallows hard and as Alynna lays her hand soothingly on her sister’s shoulder, Natalija continues with a thankful glance. “As dramatic as this will be for the people in the simulation - the shut down sequence offers a unique window for us to introduce the bypass conduit. Once the simulation starts decoupling the people one by one, we will shuffle them one after another into the bypass conduit. That’s the time when we finally can apply the hook to get them out.”

Beside me Joseph shifts from one foot to another. “Sorry if I start pushing now, but we need to hurry up. The longer we stay in the _Magellan_ ’s holodeck, the more suspicion we will rouse. And I am pretty sure that Hayes will have a field day if he finds out about all this here. Can you give us a short demonstration of how the bypass conduit and the extraction of a crew member works?”

Straightening her shoulders, Natalija nods slowly and pulls up a large view screen. “Yes, of course. Actually, now that we know how to create a stable bypass conduit, the transfer is very simple. I’ll demonstrate it with data from the shut down sequence of a Ferengi D'Kora-class vessel.”

Joseph raises his eyebrows. “The one where the crew had reached the Alpha Quadrant and was then killed during the shut down sequence?”

“Exactly the one. We will use their data for this holo-simulation, because once _Voyager_ leaves the ongoing time-loop and returns to the Alpha Quadrant, they will face a similar shut down scenario. The data you are going to see stems from the shut down sequence which lasted over a period of six hours. For the holo-simulation we are going to fast forward this procedure now.” Focusing shortly on the console, she keys in a few commands. “Alright, let’s recall the events of the shut-down sequence from the Ferengi vessel. As you can see on the view screen - what immediately happens is that the simulation removes all external scenarios.”

“That’s when for the crew in the simulation the universe ceases to exist?” asks Sekaya with a mixture of horror and fascination on her face.

“Yes. We can’t do anything at this stage and have to wait until this process is finished. But then-” she points at the screen, “we enter a short phase were the simulation prepares to decouple the crew members from the simulation. That’s our chance to sneak in the bypass conduit since the simulation loosens the control at this stage.” She types in a few commands and the pictures on the screen changes, “Voilà. The bypass conduit is already introduced.”

“Impressive!” I say in open admiration. “So the next step is to wait until the simulation decouples the first crew member and then to initiate the transfer to the bypass conduit?”

“That’s correct. Luckily in this simulated fast forward mode this won’t take too long. Ah, look-” she magnifies a sequence and types in a few commands, “here is the first decoupling of a crew member. We now activate the subroutines to start the transfer.”

_*Transfer complete*_

Beside me, Alynna vibrates from excitement. “Fantastic job, Natalija! So now we simply create a hook and apply it to extricate the crew member.”

“Wanna lend me a helping hand to set up the hook, sis?”

“Of course!” Alynna exclaims, appearing as if she has already forgotten the rest of us completely. Never have I seen her so … alive and companionable as in the presence of her younger sibling.

While the two woman are completely absorbed in their work, I cast a short side glance to Joseph. Apparently I am not the only one who has just undergone a massive shift in perception concerning the tough Admiral Nechayev.

 

 

“Okay, this time I really have a good metaphor for how the hooks works,” says Phoebe triumphantly when we enter _Voyager’s_ briefing room almost one and a half hour later without Alynna who remained on the _Magellan_ with her sister.

Joseph rolls his eyes and slumps on one of the chairs. “Good god. Another hook metaphor. Please, can anyone stop this creative genius from being creative?”

“A Velcro,” Phoebe continues, ignoring him and heading directly towards the replicator. “Coffee. Black. I tell you - the hook is like one part of a Velcro and the neural pattern is like the other part. Once they firmly match it’s possible to _rip out_ -” she pulls out the coffee out of the replicator in a fast movement, spilling some of it over the floor, “the pattern from the simulation. And this procedure we repeat for each crew member after another.”

Crossing the arms behind the back of his head, Joseph gives her a cheeky grin. “Not bad. You’re getting closer.”

Taking a sip, Phoebe responds with an equally cheeky grin and seats herself beside him.

With her hip leaned against the desk, Sekaya studies one of the blackboards. “You know,” she finally says, turning towards us, “What bothers me is that in the current time loop _Voyager_ is heading towards the Alpha Quadrant and is most probably arriving there in 2396. From their point of view this is still two years, but for us this means that we only will have a few weeks, if the time is progressing as fast as it does now. Do you expect the simulation to shut down too when they reach the Alpha Quadrant or is the time loop preventing this?”

I send her a reassuring look. “This had me bothering for a while too, Sekaya. But I came to the conclusion that during the time loop there is no possibility for the simulation to shut down. Remember, there had been already a time loop where Chakotay and Harry Kim have reached the Alpha Quadrant as sole survivors of the slip stream experiment, while _Voyager_ crashed on an ice planet. The simulation wasn’t terminated then.”

Joseph nods. “Yes, I think Gretchen is right. All evidence points in the direction that the simulation is unable to shut down as long as there is an active time loop. I think we will have to wait until the time loop will come to its natural end. This will give us time to improve and automatize the whole extraction procedure. And it will give us time to find a possibility to manipulate the simulation’s scenario. Maybe we be indirectly able to assist _Voyager_ in getting home quickly and safely.”

“I am relieved to hear that,” she says, her body relaxing considerably. “I have a proposition. How about we install a few holo emitters in the briefing room so that Natalija would be able to join us for our future meetings? After all her presence is still a secret to Hayes and colleagues, but I think we will need her expertise.”

“Great idea!” Joseph says, “but we will need to find an excuse for this new installment. However, I guess, our creative genius will have an idea how to solve this…”

“Count on me.” My daughter grins like a Cheshire cat. “So, we have a stable bypass conduit and we are in principle able to extract patterns from a terminated simulation with a hook. What keeps us from testing it on the _Voyager_ simulation?”

I smile. “Nothing. Actually, the next logical step would be to try it with one of the dead crew member’s patterns stored in a standby buffer of the current time loop. Of course we need to work on a copy and use all safety precautions we know of. But I suggest we start tomorrow with the preparations for the test runs. Also Alynna and Natalija have to overwork a few subroutines before we can start the tests.”

There is no mistaking of the sparkle in everyone’s eyes. It’s exactly what I feel too.

Hope.

Realistic hope.

 

=^=

**4 days later**

_ Day 180 (1230 hours) _

Frustrated, Natalija hits the keyboard with her hand. “Why the hell isn’t it working?”

Pinching my nose, I stare at the data before me. “No idea. Was the test pattern from Ensign Baytart out of the time loop’s standby buffer complete?”

“Yes. Let’s repeat it step by step, maybe we did something wrong.”

“Agreed.” Licking my lips, I concentrate on the data before me. “Alright, I am searching in the standby buffer of the current time loop for Ensign Baytart. Okay, here he is - died in August 2379. Transferring now into the bypass conduit. And … done.”

Natalija’s fingers fly over the console’s interface. “Bypass conduit is stable.”

“Great. Selecting Baytart’s test-neural screen from the initial implementation scans of the Caretaker scenario. Ready.”

She nods. “Okay. I am taking over. Converting the neural screen into a hook.”

Impatiently, we both watch the computer process the data.

_*Hook prepared.”_

“Hmm, looks fine. What do you think, Gretchen?”

“Looks fine to me too. Cross your fingers now. Computer, initiate and establish the hook procedure for Pablo Baytart”

While we are waiting for the hook to be established, Natalija’s feature get darker and darker the more time is passing by. “It will fail again,” she mutters.

_*Failure. Unable to establish a hook.*_

“Darn, I knew it!” she curses. “Computer, why isn’t it possible to establish a hook?”

_*There is no matching neural pattern to the hook.*_

Irritated, I shake my head. “This is impossible. We know for sure that this data set contains the standby buffer with Baytart’s pattern. He died in 2379.”

Biting her lip, Natalija studies the results from this test run thoroughly. “Okay. From all we know, Baytart’s pattern should be in the data fragment we were using. And we followed the procedure we used for the tests with terminated simulations exactly. So, why isn’t it working?”

Massaging my tense shoulders, I stare at the data before me. “No idea. But we need to examine other patterns which are stored in the simulation’s standby buffer too. Maybe Baytart’s pattern was somehow damaged. Let’s try it with one of the twenty other dead crew members from this time loop.”

Several devastating tests later, we are not any wiser. Meanwhile the rest of the team has joined us.

With a worried expression, Alynna examines our findings. “This is no coincidence. We must have missed something vital. The question is, why is the hook procedure working for the _Magellan_ and all other terminated simulations but not for the _Voyager_ simulation?”

“Actually it shouldn’t be a surprise,” says Joseph pensively. “The _Voyager_ simulation differs from all others in many aspects. This might just be another difference. Hmm, I have an idea. Computer, search in the bypass conduit for sequences which match Pablo Baytart’s hook pattern with at least 30% accuracy.”

_*Search in progress*_

I look at him questioningly. “30% is a pretty low threshold.”

He nods. “I know. But we have to start somewhere.”

Beeping, the computer spills out one sequence.

“Woah,” exclaims Natalija, expressing the same feeling I have on seeing the result. “Okay, now we have at least some sort of match. But what the hell is the rest of this sequence doing in Baytart’s patterns?”

“No idea,” I say slowly, still puzzled by the outcome, “It looks like some kind of interference. I bet that we will find this for other crew members too. Computer, is this interference also part of other neural patterns we have tested so far?”

_*Positive.*_

Screening the results, Alynna frowns. “Seems like that we’ve found the culprit. But I am not sure if I should be relieved or not. Apparently this interference overlays all neural patterns and that’s why the computer was not able to find an exact match to the hook. This definitely hinders us as long as the interference locks all patterns. It’s a massive problem, if we can’t get rid of it, because we will be unable to establish a functioning hook.”

“Sorry if I interrupt,” says Sekaya, who has been listening to us the whole time, “but with overlay, you mean like a patina over an old picture?”

I smile. “You could use that image, yes.”

“So we have to get rid of this patina first,“ she states.

“Kind of,” I nod, “but it seems that these interferences are tightly interwoven with the patterns. So this might not be that easy as it sounds. However, let’s give it a try. Computer. Isolate the interference and subtract it from the selected neural patterns.”

_*Unable to comply. Interference can’t be isolated.*_

“Computer, why is it not possible to isolate the interference?”

_*Unknown.*_

“Unknown. Darn. I feared as much,” I say, trying to keep down the increasing frustration. “We need to give the interference a closer look. I am going to run a search through the station’s database. Maybe we will be lucky, but this’ll take some time.”

Sekaya squeezes my arm. “How about lunch in the cafeteria meanwhile, Gretchen? You can’t live on coffee and croissants alone.”

I squeeze her back. “Maybe later. I’d like to overview the search.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “Anyone else want to join me for lunch?”

Phoebe shakes her head. “No, I’d like to finish one of Kathryn’s personal logs. Did you know that they passed a nebula with a Borg transwarp hub shortly before the time loop started? Maybe it comes in handy, when the time loop ends and we are in need for a way home for them...”

“That is exactly what we will require. Keep me updated,” says Alynna, walking towards the room’s exit, “Anyway, lunch sounds perfect.”

Wistfully, Natalija gazes after her sister and Sekaya. Sighing, she smiles an unhappy smile. “Well, I guess, I better deactivate myself for a while. I am not keen for a holographic lunch. Call me, if something interesting happens. Okay?”

“We will,” says Joseph, reaching for the PADD he had been working on for most of the morning.

“Thanks,” she says and deactivates herself.

An unusually relaxed but nevertheless busy atmosphere spreads through the room as the minutes purr lazily by.

Phoebe clears her throat. “By the way. What’s the problem with the women in your life, Joseph?”

Looking up from his PADD with a puzzled expression, he faces my daughter. “Hmmm?”

I could throttle her. “Phoebe!”

True to Phoebe’s nature she doesn’t even bat an eye lid. “Well, your love life. Women. Seems to be a quiet area in space.”

Lifting an eyebrow, his answer remains calm. Only the small smirk playing on the edges of his lips betrays his amusement. “That’s because women usually don’t cope very well with me or my history and avoid that particular space. Or should I consider that as an offer of yours?”

“Thanks Joseph, I’m already taken. But, you know, this is interesting. In case you haven’t noticed, Mom seems to cope with you quite well.”

“Phoebe Maria Janeway!”

Neither Phoebe nor Joseph seem to care about my exclamation. Placing his PADD on the desk and leaning forward on the table, he fixes her with one of his scrutinizing looks. “Thanks for the information Phoebe, but _that_ I’ve already found out. And in case you haven’t heard of it: Exceptions prove the rule.”

“And you certainly have figured out that exceptions are rare.”

“That lays in the nature of exceptions.”

With a content smile in her face Phoebe engrosses herself again in her work. As if nothing had ever happened.

Why is there no button on the console with a ‘ground-open-and-swallow-me-up’ function?

Nervous, no, almost nauseous, I risk a short glance towards him. It’s not the warmth of his smile I briefly meet before he focuses again in his own PADD that takes my breath away. It’s the gentle look in his eyes mingled with the rare liquids of respect, desire and affection.

I can’t believe that a look like this is directed at me. And I can’t believe that I’m responding like this.

After all these years.

After I’ve given up on ever experiencing it again.

Is it possible that love has sneaked into my life again without me noticing it?

The computer’s beep luckily saves me from following this line of thoughts. Shoving all messed up feelings aside, I pull up the data to examine the list.

“And?” says Joseph after a while, stepping beside me.

Trying to ignore the radiating warmth of his body, I screen through the results. “Nothing … only minor correlations. Although except … hmmm, wait. Computer mix these two neural patterns together and compare them with the sequence of the interference. How probable is that the combined pattern is the source of the interference?”

_*The probability is 62.3 percent.*_

Joseph whistles. “This combined pattern is a mix between Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s neural patterns?”

“Yes.”

Phoebe joins us and looks over my shoulder. “What does that mean?”

“I am not sure yet,” I shrug. “All I can say is that the interference most probably has its source in Kathryn and Chakotay’s combined pattern. Let’s give it another try. Computer, is it now possible to isolate the interference from the neural patterns?”

_*Negative.*_

Annoyed, I throw my hands up in the air. “Computer, why is it still not possible to isolate the interference from the pattern?”

_*Parameters are incomplete.*_

Joseph, scratches his chin with one hand. “Parameters are incomplete. One step forward, two steps back. Seems we are again back to square one with the question what makes Kathryn and Chakotay so special so that they even can lock their crew’s patterns in some sort of way.”

Propping up myself with both arms on the console, I clench my jaw in frustration. “Great. Back to square one-”

The doors spring open and Alynna bursts into the briefing room like a lightning. “ _Voyager_ has found a wormhole and has arrived two years earlier than expected in the Alpha Quadrant. And Chakotay is dead.”

The room is plunged into shocked silence.

Joseph is the first to find his voice again. “Shit. Two years earlier! But the simulation is still active? And what about Chakotay?”

“Yes, luckily it is still active. You and Gretchen were right: the shut down sequence hasn’t been triggered and the time loop seems to protect the simulation and Chakotay as well. His body is still alive in the stasis chamber and his neural patterns were transferred into the simulation’s standby buffer. But *this* is not our worst problem.” Rubbing her temples, she heaves a deep breath. “Hayes lost his nerves. Now that Chakotay is dead, he fears that his neural patterns will destabilize so much that this will destroy the whole _Val Jean_ simulation. I was able to pull a few strings… We have forty four hours to come up with something convincing or they will extricate the Maquis out of the system by force.”

Joseph mutters a curse. “Oh come on. That’s complete nonsense! They’ll risk destabilizing the _Equinox_ and the _Voyager_ part of the combined simulation too. There has to be another way.”

Alynna starts pacing the room. “Apart from the fact we haven’t found a solution yet to unblock the neural patterns, our method allows at best to extract people who died in the time loop and whose patterns are in the standby buffer. That’s merely twenty two people out of roughly one hundred and forty. I hate to say it but Hayes’ idea still is the better solution, if we have to extract them NOW.”

“That’s enough to drive you mad!” shouts Phoebe, hitting her empty coffee cup hard on the table. “We’ve come so far. We-”

“Yes,” I interrupt her, trying to stay calm. “We have come far. But as Alynna said: as long as the interference blocks any access to the neural patterns, our whole idea is not worth the PADD it is stored on and Hayes is indeed their last chance… Forty four hours?”

Alynna nods with her lips pressed together.

I grit my teeth. “We’d better start immediately.”

 

=^=

**Fourteen hours later**

_ Day 183 (0300 hours) _

 

It’s 0300. Time is running through our fingers like sand on the beach. Thirty hours left to prove that we are right and to provide an alternative way out which is far beyond hypothesis level. We’re working almost nonstop; due to the lack of sleep we become more and more like the picture of the miserable bunch of which we are accused of being. Admiral Nechayev’s joke troop. I’m past the stage of feeling bitterness about this.

I meet Alynna’s tired eyes. She risks so much in assembling her own team and following her intuition – her career, her reputation, her credibility. Her smile is forced, barely conceals her desperation. My answering smile must look the same.

Natalija, dead but at the same time very alive, works non-stop on the computer, trying scenario after scenario as if her sheer will can force a solution out of the data.

Sekaya and Phoebe are still screening through PADDs and personal logs. Phoebe’s hand is tightly clutched around a coffee mug which she raises in regular intervals to her lips. Most probably she hasn’t yet recognized that the cup has long been empty. Propping her forehead in one hand, Sekaya absentmindedly crushes the chalk into small pieces with her other hand, creating a white heap on the table. The antique chalk looks strangely out of place in the midst of huge 24th century PADD piles. Joseph is surrounded by loads of empty coffee mugs and is also deeply engrossed in a PADD.

Coffee seems like a good idea.

Wearily I heave myself out of my chair and scuff towards the replicator – the sound of someone ordering coffee the only words spoken from us within the last few hours. Things are not to our advantage at the moment.

Tiredly leaning my side against the wall, I sip on my coffee and let my eyes run over the many lines and data written on the black boards for what feels like the umpteenth time.

Auxiliary characters created by Kathryn and Chakotay. Several minor time loops and a few major time loops, including the current one. An interference which also stems from Kathryn and Chakotay and which seems to protect every neural patterns of the crew.

Where is the connection? Is there a connection at all? And the captain’s personalities - how does Alynna’s hunch fit into this picture?

Kathryn and Chakotay. So different but also so similar at the same time.

I take another sip.

What if we are standing too close? What if we need to abstract more? Simplifying things? Getting rid of those variables which might be in reality the same? Like equating the auxiliary characters with the person that has created them? The EMH and Seven to Kathryn, Kes and Neelix to Chakotay, Icheb to both?

What happens to the time loops when I change these variables?

Things clearly get simpler. Much simpler. It would appear that every time either Kathryn or Chakotay is endangered or dies, the other seems to use a time loop to circumvent it. Could it really be that easy?

While I take another sip, my eyes wander through the small room and come to rest on two circular coffee imprints on the table overlapping each other. As if on autopilot I push myself away from the wall and walk slowly to the table to touch them with my finger.

Two loops interwoven.

Two realities united.

Two lives _joined_.

The realization hits icily; it is like jumping overheated into cold water and as I catch a deep breath, my head starts spinning.

Heavens, Alynna was right. The secret lays in the personality of the captains, but not as she’d thought. But could it be? On the level of subroutines, equations, numbers? How could that happen?

My eyes snap back to the black board and I shiver as understanding hits home. Not only the main time loops could be explained this way, it fits also most of the minor ones. How about the auxiliary characters? How do they fit into this scheme? Do they fit at all?

I follow the many lines, which set the auxiliary characters into relation with each other.

_Kathryn takes Neelix and Kes on board. Kathryn’s deep friendship to Kes. Kathryn risks her life to safe Kes. The EMH saves Neelix, Kes and Chakotay. Kes cares for Kathryn. Neelix cares for Kathryn’s physical and mental well-fare, Neelix serves coffee. Chakotay cooks for Kathryn. Chakotay is Kathryn’s confidant and best friend. Kathryn’s sadness at the loss of Kes. Kathryn lets Neelix go. Neelix advises Seven to date Chakotay. Chakotay falls in love with Seven, ..._

Too many variables. But the whole mess reduces itself to a few relations if we change the variables.

_Kathryn takes Chakotay on board, befriends him and saves his life on many occasions. Chakotay cares for Kathryn’s physical and mental wellbeing, is her closest friend and falls in love with her._

Love. As simple as that.

Love on the level of subroutines and equations. Subconsciously. And most probably on the conscious level too. Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s physical attraction to each other is apparent, but it is also apparent that they’ve never acted on their feelings - if they _were_ aware of them. But if I’m right, if love plays a crucial role, then it must be so omnipresent that it had manifested itself on the conscious level too.

So, how far did the emotion consciously go?

“Margaret?” Joseph’s concerned voice tears me out of my thoughts. Keeping my eyes glued to the blackboard, I carefully consider my question. It means that I need to dig deep into Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s innermost privacy. Something I wanted to avoid as long as possible.

“Sekaya. Phoebe. When is the first personal log entry of Chakotay or Kathryn where they explicitly state that they,” I take a deep breath, “… that they love the other?”

It’s not the stunned silence in the room that confirms that I’m right – it’s the quiet clank of a carefully placed coffee mug on the table; Phoebe’s coffee mug to which she has been clinging for almost an hour. Slowly turning around, I fix my younger daughter and Sekaya. Both stare at each other, pale and with widened eyes, understanding flickering across their faces. Reaching for Sekaya’s hand, Phoebe’s voice is almost inaudible. “Shit.”

“Spirits.” Sekaya’s voice is equally quiet. “She does?”

“Yes, the hell she does. And if she is ever going to get out of this system, I will kick her ass for not telling him. I swear.”

I close my eyes and clench my fingers into the back of my chair to prevent it from tumbling over. Oh my god. I might be right. For the first time we have got a sound hypothesis and thus a realistic chance to delay the forced extrication.

Love might be the key.

Love united them and helped them to survive the unsurvivable. So that’s why fifty one crews might be dead. Amongst other factors their captains were on their own and couldn’t stand the pressure. And Ransom as a person couldn’t merge with Kathryn’s and Chakotay’s reality simply because of _incompatibility._ But Ransom’s dedication and love to his crew made it possible to rescue at least a few. The same theme again - love.

How does love manifests itself on a mathematical level? Is this the key for an algorithm to extricate them safely from the system? Is love the reason why all the neural patterns of the crew seem to be protected by an interference? There must be an indicator, a reoccurring theme within the data. I just have to find this key-sequence.

Another theme emerges in front of my eyes. Chakotay sacrificing his ship, merging _Voyager’s_ crew and the one of the _Val Jean_ , creating a united reality. Ransom sacrificing his ship, merging his crew with the other two, integrating them in another reality. There _must_ lay another key-sequence.

While other puzzle pieces suddenly fall into place and my mind starts drawing up a plan, a warm feeling spreads inside my heart on realizing that Kathryn is not alone.

In this whole lunacy she is not alone.

And she is loved, although she might not know it. Moreover, my child is in love even if she may keep it a secret.

For the first time in years I really feel like embracing the world again. It’s impossible to think of sleep now – there is a hypothesis to test and data to chase. How on earth does love look as a numerical term?

Heading towards the next console, I’m already thinking about where to start, barely registering that Alynna joins me on my hunt with a questioning look on her face. Thirty hours left to come up with something convincing and kick the ass of those jerks. Should be no problem for a Janeway, right?

 

=^=

**Two days later**

_ Day 185 (1000 hours) _

 

Hayes paces the hearing room with barely suppressed anger. “I told you, this is ridiculous!”

Admiral Shanthi’s face on the view screen darkens. “I have come across more ridiculous phenomena in the universe than love. Although I have to admit that its sounds slightly bizarre.” She screens quickly through the PADD in her hand. “Alright. Let me get this right. In your report you indicated that you found on your search after key sequences a miniscule glitch in the system. This glitch is the reason why the _Val Jean_ simulation, which happened to be the first simulation, came in a short contact with every newly introduced vessel. When _Voyager_ was introduced to the system, there happened to be such a high compatibility between these simulations that they fused. Like two oil drops becoming a larger one.”

I nod. “Yes. But remember, the simulation is programmed to react primarily to the captain’s pattern. So to be exact, it was the compatibility of Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay’s pattern.”

“Or attraction.”

“Yes.”

Laying her PADD back on the desk, Shanthi shakes her head in light disbelief. “Absolutely fascinating. And you are now in the position to get them out of the simulation?”

“Yes, except for both Captains, it should be possible for the rest of the crew. We were able to get rid of the interference which overlay the neural patterns in the standby buffers. This makes it now possible to apply the hooks. The tests on the holodeck were successful.”

Reclining and putting her fingertips together, she gives us a long, pensive look. “Granted, I would order the delay of Admiral Hayes’ procedure-,”

“Admiral!” calls Hayes annoyed.

She gives him only a stern glance and continues “-and give you the green light for your project. What happens next?”

Alynna steps forward. “We need to wait until the time loop comes to its natural end. Because of the time loop, _Voyager_ ’s arrival in the Alpha Quadrant did not trigger the simulation’s shut down sequence as it should have. Therefore, once the time loop has ended, we have to make sure that they safely arrive in the Alpha Quadrant again, but this time without starting another time loop. Once the simulation’s shutdown sequence has started, we will introduce the bypass conduit and start extracting one person after another.”

“So, one of your main issues is now to find a way how to manipulate the simulation in order to get them safely home to the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Yes,” confirms Alynna, “but we have already developed a strategy. Since we were able to identify several key-sequences, we now have some room for manipulation.”

Shanthi nods approvingly. “Sounds promising. And the other main issues are that you need to optimize the extraction procedure and to find a way how to decouple both captains from the basic level of the simulation.”

“Yes, we will need to develop an automated algorithm, but this too shouldn’t be a problem. Professor Janeway has suggested the use of a secondary hook for the captains, but this problem needs definitely more consideration.”

Tense silence hangs in the room like a thick cloud. Finally, Admiral Shanthi takes a deep breath. “My decision is as follows. Since the current time-loop conserves everyone who dies during its progress, we are not risking any casualties as long as the time-loop is active. Therefore, if the _Val Jean_ simulation is not collapsing or endangering the rest of the merged simulation, Admiral Nechayev’s team is to proceed with their work and all available personnel are assigned for assistance. But-,” Shanthi leans forward on her desk, “if there is only the slightest indication that there is a problem, we will immediately get them out with Admiral Hayes’ procedure. Understood?”

A chorus of “Yes,” reflecting the whole bandwidth of human emotions, echoes through the room.

Admiral Shanthi stands up in her chair. “Good luck. I expect daily reports. Shanthi out.”


	10. Endgame's End

**Approximately three months later**

_ Day 271 (0900 hours) _

 

“Gretchen, don’t tell me you have been working all night again,” whispers Joseph with a reproachful undertone as I schlepp myself past him into the bustling room, where we have been working for the last months. Some of the Starfleet personnel interrupt their work to greet me, but apparently decide otherwise after they’ve seen my face. Admittedly, this morning’s reflection in the mirror was a bit scary. Slimmed down. Pale. Dark circles. Ruffled hair. Although, the latter is not very unusual for me - my curls have resisted every attempt to tame them.

“I am fresh like a spring’s morning breeze,” I growl quietly back, annoyed that he motherhens me again - a habit he’d started a month ago and which was the reason for a few nasty disputes between the two of us.

“Yes, you are fresh and dynamic like a breeze which had just been released from a dustbin,” he says quietly, trying not to raise too much attention from the people in the room. “Gretchen. You can’t continue like this or you will collapse soon.”

“I can collapse when _Voyager_ has safely passed the transwarp hub and the shut down sequence starts. Or do I have to remind you that the time loop can end any time and we still have some very unsolved issues left?” I hiss back.

He only grits his teeth in response.

Walking to the desk and laying the PADD with tonight’s work carefully on its surface, I meet the expectant glances of the gathered people in the room. “Good morning everyone. I want a status report from each working group. Which team wants to start?”

“Us, Professor,” says a tired and downcast looking young man, who is responsible for supervising the simulation’s progress.

“Okay, Ensign K’Teial. Go ahead.”

“The extreme deceleration in the time velocity indicated it last week, but this morning it happened: the time loop ended a few minutes ago. Admiral Janeway is on _Voyager_ and currently subject of several examinations.”

Agitated whispers fill the air. Closing my eyes shortly, I pinch my nose, trying to hide my desperation. We had months to prepare for this moment, but we are still not ready. Straightening my shoulders, I face the group again. “Alright, it had to happen one day. However, it’s now only a matter of time until Admiral Janeway suggests entering the Borg hub. We need to give them as much support as we can in the limited time we have.” My view falls on Ensign Miller, a middle-aged woman, who is one hell of a talented computer scientist. “How far did your team get with the manipulation of the Borg and their hub within the simulation?”

Ensign Miller clears her throat. “Well, you know, our options are very limited, but we were working the last few days on a means to make the Borg more vulnerable. Lessened shields, fewer vessels and so on. Since the time loop is finished we can now apply our manipulations. But to enter this area of space is still a nightmare.”

Alynna, who usually gives me the lead for the briefings, steps in. “Keep trying to weaken the Borg as much as possible. _Voyager_ will need any tactical advantage we can give them. Try to get also minor systems malfunctioning. When combined they can drag a system down quite a lot.”

“Acknowledged, Admiral,” responds Ensign Miller.

I can’t help glancing to Phoebe, who is listening with her arms folded over her chest. Sensing my gaze, she looks in my direction and gives me a small smile. It had been her, who suggested using the Borg transwarp hub to bring _Voyager_ back. What looked at first like an insane idea, became more and more an option. All the more after Ensign Miller had achieved the impossible and found a way - although minuscule - to manipulate the simulation to our advance. And as it appeared later, Admiral Janeway was open to our carefully placed hints within the simulation and even reckless enough to follow them, dragging tons of future technology with her into the past.

I take a deep breath and concentrate on the tasks at hand. “Okay, next point on the agenda. “Lieutenant Evans, what is the status of the extraction procedure for Captain Janeway and Chakotay? Does it still need two hooks per person to extract them? And were you able to automatize the procedure?”

An elderly woman raises from her seat. “Unfortunately not,” she says with an apologetic expression. “There is no way around the use of two different hooks, because the simulation secures any access to the captain’s patterns tighter than for the rest of the crew. We will need the basic hook for the majority of their pattern and the secondary hook to lock on the part of the patterns which is stored in the most basic level of the simulation. Currently, the procedure is semiautomatic. We have to manually bypass two security levels, of which the second one is constantly changing.”

“The second security level is the strangely shifting source code I found?” I ask her.

She nods in confirmation. “Yes. It’s dynamically adapting to any intrusion and therefore makes it necessary to manually crack the source code. Only then we can introduce both hooks to extract Captain Janeway and Captain Chakotay. Once we have broken through both security levels, the hook procedure luckily follows standard routine again.”

Natalija, whose existence had been acknowledged by everyone very quickly and had become part of Evans’ team, hands me a PADD. “It shouldn’t be a problem to take them out manually. But the person who will do the job must be experienced and skilled enough to be able to quickly adjust algorithms and subroutines. There is only a selected group of people who are able to do this.”

Accepting the PADD, I meet her glance. Selected group of people… Well, this would definitely include me, Alynna, Natalija, maybe Joseph and a few others on the station. “I see. The manual steps will require more time than the usual four minutes. Any idea how much it will add to the standard extraction procedure?”

“Depends on the experience of the team. I’d say a few minutes. Minutes we actually can’t afford,” she sighs. “The problem is still the tight schedule of the simulation’s shut down sequence. It decouples the crew faster than we are able to extract them out of the simulation. We have been trying hard to optimize and speed up every step of the hook procedure but with little success. We still can get out only half of the crew in the time we are given and we have not the slightest idea how to push the limits any further …”

“Only half of the crew?” exclaims Hayes scandalized, and I can feel his venomous glance almost burning on my skin. In a way, he has almost every right to be upset, since his procedure would have had about the same success rate. Almost every right.

I decide to more or less ignore him and draw myself up to my full height. “If we stick to the current strategy, then yes, it will be only half of the crew.” Sending a pointed look to Joseph, I reach for my own PADD to connect it with the computer. “But not if we duplicate the bypass conduits. This would enable us to take them out in pairs and halve the necessary total time.”

Lieutenant Evans shake her had sadly. “We have tried this before. Two bypass conduits have too much data volume. This makes it impossible to introduce them into the shut down sequence.”

I type in a few commands and pull up a screen. “Yes, if we merely copy them, then you are right. But the solution is to condense the codes of the bypass conduits so that the data volume decreases considerably. It took me a few days-” I resist to glance over to Joseph again, “and a few nights to find the correct algorithms. But tonight’s tests were successful. We should now be able to take them out in pairs.”

Evans jumps on her feet and gives the screen a closer look. “That’s fantastic! That exactly doubles our speed. We really could do it in time!” she shouts against the excited murmurs in the background.

Natalija joins her at the console and starts the calculations I have already done this night. Many many times and a few more. Cold desperation wraps around my heart.

“Granted, Prof. Janeway’s method works,” she says, unaware of my lacking enthusiasm at this substantial advancement, “we take them out in pairs and we would start manually bypassing the security levels for Janeway and Chakotay while the hook procedure for the two crew members before them is still in progress, then-” she pushes the button and the data on the view screen change.

“Yes,” I state, trying to keep my desperation under control. “Two minutes lack. Still.”

“For heaven’s sake!” Alynna curses. “Only two damn minutes are missing to pull everyone out of the simulation. TWO minutes! And we can’t push the limit any further. Is this really true? Where do we get two additional minutes? I want everyone to start thinking outside of the box! And fast! It’s now only a matter of days until they enter the Borg hub and rush into the Alpha Quadrant.“

Around me everyone jumps into action, trying again to achieve the impossible, but somehow I know that this time the impossible won’t bend down. A thick lump forms in my throat.

Only two damn minutes.

My beloved child.

 

 

**Four days later**

_ Day 275 (2307 hours) _

 

_Simulation terminated._

Two words I've heard too often the days before, but especially the last fourteen hours.

Joseph curses beside me. Biting her lips, Sekaya stares to the ground. Natalija leans with her hip to her console and lets out a slow breath through pursued lips. Alynna paces the room like a tigress.

Phoebe's pale face stares at me as she speaks aloud the three other words, which are even worse. "Two minutes missing."

Her words linger raw in the air as if it were not enough that the brutal reality was shown on the huge digits of the computer's count-down.

Two minutes. We still lack these two damn minutes. No matter what we did, what we do, who worked on it. No matter, how we adjust the algorithm, how we change the sequence.

It had been like that the last 14 hours, actually the last two and a half days. Desperation fueled us to work virtually non-stop in the holodeck in order to find a way to pull Kathryn and Chakotay out of the simulation. We are the last of Starfleet’s team to still work on it in this late hour. Everyone else has gone to sleep.

With a bitter taste in my mouth I head towards the console on my left and open the menu with trembling fingers. "If I would recalibrate the pattern search, maybe we could win a few seconds..."

"Margaret."

"I also could-"

"Margaret!" Alynna's shout lets me cringe in mid-movement. Taking a deep breath, I slowly tear away my view from the keys, not wanting to hear what she's going to say; hopelessness spreading its cover over my heart as I recognize the decision in her eyes. "Gretchen, you know as well as I do that the time loop's stop pattern ended a few days ago. It is only a matter of days or even hours until _Voyager_ enters the Borg hub. Kathryn and her crew will all do what they can to survive. So will we. I don't think I have to tell you that we all need to be one hundred percent focused when they reach the Alpha Quadrant and the shut down sequence starts. As I said, it could be any time. It could be in five minutes. Tell me, Margaret, would you be prepared in your current condition to go through the whole procedure for the whole crew if the sequence would start right NOW?"

My fingers wrap tightly around the edge of the console. Gritting my teeth, I meet her stern look with desperate anger. "You know the answer as well as I do, Alynna."

"Yes, and that's why-," she waves with her hands around the room, "-this here has to stop. We have exhausted long ago all possibilities and ourselves. We don't and we won't get any faster. It's over. But you, hell, we ALL have a responsibility towards those people. You can't sacrifice over hundred lives just because of one, even if it means the universe to you."

"I can't let her and Chakotay simply die in there," I almost, no, I positively scream at her.

"You have to, Margaret." Joseph hand touches my shoulder warm, tender; one of the few cordial spots left in my life. As I turn around to face him I meet the sad, adamant truth in his eyes. "She is the captain, Margaret. They are the command team."

"I ..." My voice fails, cracks. He is right, of course he is, but it hurts too much. I have to close my eyes to hide the up-dwelling tears.

Silence reigns the room until Alynna's heavy sigh cuts through it. "Alright. One more chance. But that's it."

As I meet her look, it's apparent she struggles with the decision to stop herself.

"Thanks," I murmur.

We start anew at the last part of the sequence, but I don't have to listen to Phoebe's weak-spirited count-down nor to Sekaya's merely whispered reference when someone is pulled out of the simulation to know that things are hopeless.

_Simulation terminated._

And I don't have to look at the count-down's digits to know that it has halted again at two minutes.

My face feels numb when I run my fingers over it; it feels as if the overwhelming tiredness has found a way to lay over my skin like a thin mask. A thick lump of desperation forms within my throat.

Alynna's weary eyes meet mine, but her voice is firm. It's like a death sentence. "We were too slow."

Nobody responds. Just pale faces, which appear even more pale as the holodeck's program shuts down and only the yellow grids in the dark background remain.

Nobody speaks a word as we walk the corridors from the holodeck until we reach the door to my quarters and enter my refuge. It seems as if everyone is reluctant to go, reluctant to face the ashy defeat alone. Our glances barely meet.

“Margaret...,“ Alynna finally says gravely, fatigue and most probably the weigh of her decision tinging her voice. “I am sorry. I really am. Get some rest.”

Sekaya squeezes my arm softly and although her eyes are moist, she appears to be collected in her own quiet strength of way. “Good night, Gretchen. May the spirits be with you. May they be with all of us.“

Unable to speak, I merely nod and watch her slowly walk into the corridor to her own quarters into a dark night. We will need all the spirits of the universe.

“Good night, Mom.“ Phoebe trembles in my arms, tears run down her cheeks as I palm her face. Words are unnecessary; we both have been in this pain together before. But this time Kathryn really will be gone.

Softly placing a kiss on her forehead, I stroke one of her curls behind her ear. My voice is hoarse. “Good night, little one.”

Phoebe gives me a long look, before she steps out of the quarters and the doors hiss shut behind her. Running my hand along my face, I take a deep shuddering breath. So she is gone too.

“Good night, Margaret.”

 _Good_. It’s probably going to be one of the worst nights of my life. Without turning around to face him, I respond toneless, “Good night, Joseph.”

The bathroom doors quietly swish open. His footsteps. Closing doors.

I’m alone.

Wrapping my arms around myself, my head sinks to my chest, tears dropping one by one on my sleeves and leave dark spots behind.

Why? Why is my life shattering into pieces again? Why me?

Arms wrap around my shoulders, turning me around and draw me to a warm body. Strong. Familiar. Beloved. Bursting out crying, I finally weep all those tears I kept at bay the whole day, while he soothingly rocks my shivering frame in his embrace.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here,” he whispers, a bristly chin brushing along my temples. “I won’t let you face that alone.”

My love. _My love_. With my face buried in the crook of his neck, I break into convulsive sobbing until my knees give away.

Lifting me up, he carries me to my bed and lays me softly on it. Like to a child he pulls of my shoes, then his own before lying beside my side and holding me tight in his arms. I slide my arms around his waist.

He starts quietly crying too.

In the silent strength of our embrace we comfort each other through the waves of grief until the exhaustion of the many battles fought and the most important one lost seeps in.

Resting my head on his shoulder, I can see that his pulse is beating rapidly. Glittering tears still slowly slide down his cheek and get caught in the stubbles of his three days beard. Trancelike my fingers touch his chest, feel the uniform’s material rough beneath my finger’s tips. I trail along his neck, over his jaw, trace his lips. My love.

For several heartbeats we look at each other.

Mustering my courage, I weave my fingers in his hair and draw his face to me, his lips coming to feather on the corner of mine. For a few breaths we breathe each other before we meet in a soft kiss. Sweet. Tender.

And then suddenly he pulls away. Opening my eyes in surprise I look up to a tormented face.

“Margaret.” Seemingly struggling for words, he props himself on his hand.

“Yes?”

“I … You …” He lets out a shuddering breath. “I mean …”

A flood of affection towards him spreads from my core and I softly place my hand on his chest, stroking him with my thumb. His heart beats fast and firmly. “Is this the moment where you are going to explain me that there is a reason why women usually avoid staying in the space of yours for a longer time?”

This time it’s him who looks at me in surprise. “Ummm. Kind of. Yes.”

“Did it occur to you that I’ve found out about this reason months ago and am still here, even after witnessing some of its outbreaks?”

“Margaret.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I’m not the man I’ve been before the Borg. Nor will I ever be it again. The Borg will always remain part of my past. And present.”

“Did it occur to you that I love you as the man you are now?”

Pressing his lips together, he slowly shakes his head as if not daring to believe what I’m saying.

I swallow. “Well, Joseph. I do. I love you as you are.”

Framing my face with his hands, he remains silent for a few heartbeats. “Oh god Margaret.”

He pulls me into a searing kiss with a passion I would have never expected from him; his hands wander behind my back and press our bodies tightly together. I gasp in his mouth on feeling his erection hard against my belly. Our tongues meet. Mate. A hand caressing my breast. Our hips starting to rock against each other.

I’m on fire. I’m on ice.

Driven by the need to feel his skin I tug on his shirt, his pants, barely register the skillful fingers peeling me out of my own clothes.

Until naked skin touches naked skin. Breathless we halt in our movements, amazed at what has happened.

He follows my gaze as I let my hand wander over him. His skin, so soft, radiating heat, covering muscled flesh.

The body, not young anymore. Neither is mine. A body slightly withered from life, bearing scars. Scars he didn’t want to be removed to always remember him that the Borg really happened. That the terror had been real. To remain sane.

The abdominal wall slowly lifting and lowering with his breathing under my hand, his erect penis following this rhythm.

“You are so beautiful.” I whisper.

“So are you.” He draws me near to him, planting, trailing kisses to my neck, my shoulders, on my breasts. Hot breath caresses over my skin.

His hand tenderly passes along the swell of my breasts, my hip, strokes over my abdomen which has softened from bearing my children. Slowly his fingers slide down my belly, wander through the curls of my hair. My heart starts pounding wildly as I reluctantly open my legs. It _has_ been a long time.

Sensing my insecurity, Joseph stops his exploration, his hand cupping my mound while his other arm slips around my waist to draw me nearer to his body. His erection presses hard against my hip. Our breaths are ragged. Kissing my forehead, he hoarsely whispers. “It’s alright Margaret. We don’t have to go further.”

Laying my head on his shoulder and inhaling his scent, I close my eyes. Of what am I afraid of? Of being loved by this wonderful, gentle man?

Quiet sobs escape me on realizing the full impact of all this. Being loved.

Me being loved again.

I look up to him with misty eyes. “I want this, Joseph. I really want this.”

Without breaking eye contact, I let my thighs fall open and lay my hand on his, gently guiding his fingers to my bare flesh. His eyes become dark of desire as his fingers skillfully explore sensitive spots, tenderly rubbing and caressing through my moist heat, unbidden moans of pleasure escaping my lips.

Rolling me under his body, he settles himself between my parted legs. We merge almost effortlessly. Slowly and gently my world reduces itself to the sensation of him gliding into me, his loving eyes, the delicious smell and warmth of his body on mine, and although tears run along my cheeks, I feel my face melting into a smile, boundless joy and love unfurling their wings in my heart. I’ve never seen him so at peace. Stilling, he places soft kisses all over my face, tender fingers stroke my jaw.

And then he smiles too, a wonderful heart touching smile, powerful like a sunrise.

Fulfillment. In every sense.

With every sense.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him down into a kiss, our tongues lovingly dancing with each other, his hands touching and stroking along my body and setting my skin aflame.

Suddenly, he starts moving.

I gasp in surprise and arch my hips. He groans. It is then when the undercurrent of desire becomes rampant, transforming our gentle kisses to greedy open-mouthed ones. I find myself pressing hard against his body, meeting his movements, his trusts with equal ferocity. Time becomes irrelevant. Sweaty sticky skin brushes against each other. My moans mix with his.

Feeling my abdomen tightening, I clinch to him tightly; my breaths are getting more and more ragged as his pounding becomes faster and faster. Slams into me. My head tilts back when waves of pleasure hit me, filling my very being into the last pore.

Riding on the last waves, I watch him come. Watch him as he gives up control, shudders and convulses in my arms with closed eyes, arching his head back when he finally pours himself into me with a husky moan. Beautiful. Oh god, he’s so beautiful.

With our gazes locked our shuddering breaths mingle, slowly calm down. I brush his sweaty hair. Responding with a smile he places a kiss on my forehead. Carefully he lowers himself on my side and cautiously withdrawing from me, our joined juices slowly trickle along my inner thighs. Another sensation, almost forgotten.

With my head tucked against Joseph’s shoulder and our fingers intertwined we lay cuddled against each other.

Turning my head, I meet his eyes, their expression almost clenching my heart. So full of sorrow, full of affection. Full of regret. Despite what had happened this evening, he still doesn’t fully believe I’m staying with him. Do I? Do I really want to stay?

Maybe as soon as tomorrow our task comes to its sad end and we eventually part and return back into our own lives. Or what is left of it. It would be familiar. Yes. Full with well-known habits and rules. No one to challenge me to stop and reflect over the broken fragments of my life. No one except Phoebe who really cares if I’m whole. No one being my equal. Who am I to deny this rare gift from life, this brave and caring man who gave himself openly with all what he is from the very first hours of our acquaintance?

Slowly trailing my fingers along his face until they come to rest to the crook of his neck, I search for the right words. My heart starts pounding rapidly as I fix his eyes.

“In good times and in bad times, Joseph.” I vow. It’s not like my vow to Edward forty five years ago when in hindsight life yet consisted mostly of good times; this time I’m fully aware how utterly bad the bad times can be.

His eyes widen in surprise, his weary features slowly lighting up when I don’t avoid his examining look. I offer myself to him with everything I am; good, bad, a life full with a past. I offer him a shared future.

Laying his hand above mine, he slowly lifts my fingers to his lips and kisses them reverently. His voice is severe. “In good times and in bad times. Wherever the journey leads us, Margaret.”

“Wherever it leads.”

Gently drawing me to his chest, he trails his fingers along my back. “Sleep, my love. Sleep.”

While the station’s silent humming and Joseph’s warm body engulf me like a warm blanket, exhaustion and finally sleep reaches for my churned up mind.

It’s a long time since I felt so loved.

 

=^=

**The next day**

_ Day 276 (0703 hours) _

We don't need words to understand each other. Not after this night we've shared.

In silence we shower and get dressed, check the latest status report on the simulation. It looks like _Voyager_ is soon entering the transwarp hub to reach the Alpha Quadrant.

Looks like the simulation is soon about to end.

Looks like Kathryn is soon about to die.

Unreality wraps itself around my very being. It feels so wrong, so surreal. Somehow part of me waits only to wake up from a very long and terrible nightmare.

A nightmare which has become raw reality.

"I'll go and see Kathryn," Is the only thing I say, and again, Joseph understands. Understands that I want to see my child for the last time before duty calls and we're both needed to pull each member of her crew out of this insanity except for my daughter and Chakotay.

I owe it to her.

Joseph's fingers are cold when he wraps them around my hand. Wordlessly we walk together along the station's corridors and finally board _Voyager_ , only to continue our lonely walk on _Voyager_ 's abandoned decks. Like so many times before, the impression of entering a graveyard almost overwhelms me.

As we step on the bridge, I meet Phoebe's pale face, her delicate figure looking as lost as Kathryn's stasis chamber beside her. Phoebe’s eyes are red and swollen, and I’m sure she has cried herself into sleep.

In her face plays a weak smile of understanding when she sees us. “Welcome to the family, Joseph,” she says quietly and embraces him gently, then me.

I don't know long we all stare at Kathryn’s stasis chamber, trying to cope with the inconceivability.

"Chakotay..." Joseph eventually murmurs, and this time it's me who understands. I simply nod without tearing my eyes away from Kathryn; the bridge doors' hissing the only indication that he is gone.

As if in trance I wearily sit down on the chair beside the stasis chamber. Kathryn looks so pale, so incredible pale. Unbelievable that whatever life is still pulsing through her veins it will soon be gone.

Two minutes.

Only two minutes more would safe her.

Now the only remaining thing seems to be to wait until someone informs us about the shut down sequence's start.

I feel like a string ready to tear-off.

God, I am so tired. So unendingly tired.

“Mom.” Phoebes hand is warm on my arm, her voice soft. “You’ve done everything what was in your power. Let it be. Let her go. Let her die in peace.”

“Two minutes, Phoebe. She only needs two damn minutes.”

“Yes Mom, I know. You’ve achieved the impossible and almost all of her crew are going to be safe. It’s time to let her go. The captain always goes down with her ship. She would have wanted it like that.”

I can’t, no, I refuse to talk of my child as if she is already dead. Standing up from my chair, I head towards the door. “I’m not going to let Kathryn die because of two minutes. At least I can try to save Chakotay. There must be a way to change the algorithms.”

“Mom, please. He wouldn’t want you to do that. Remember, he promised her he would always be by her side. He wouldn’t want her to die alone.”

“Take care of Kathryn if I am too late.” My voice sounds strange, even to me. There is no need to see my younger daughter to know that she is silently crying.

The door springs open and I nearly bump into Alynna, my guts clenching at the sight, nausea almost overcoming me.

“Gretchen. The shut down sequence has started,” she says quietly and without another word takes me into her arms.

So they’ve entered the Borg transwarp hub. Already.

Time had run out and it is now up my algorithms to save all the surviving crew members from the _Equinox_ , the _Val_ _Jean_ and _Voyager_.

One by one.

Except for the two surviving captains whose unbelievable strengths and sheer wills had kept them all alive for years. My daughter and the man she loves.

Alynna still holds me when the pain permeates the last remaining emotional barriers and my world after months of battling finally shatters into pieces.

 

=^=

**A few hours later**

_ Day 276 (1738 hours) _

Pulling out the crewmembers almost has become routine the last hours.

“Initiate and establish hook for Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim,” Lieutenant Evan states almost with a bored voice.

_Hook on crewmember 9419 and 9420 established._

I watch the display showing the progression of the extraction. Normal. As all others have been.

_Crewmember 9419 and 9420 extracted._

Now, only four remain. Two will survive. Two will die. I’m so tired.

Alynna paces the room. Joseph leans against a console with a pale face. I don’t feel much better than he looks like.

“Professor?” Ensign Miller, who is responsible to monitor the simulation, looks at me with an apologizing expression. “The simulation seems to be slowing down. But the parameters are still within the predicted uncertainty range.”

I stare at him. Hurry on his side and view the data. It shouldn’t slow down. Not that much. After all we are already in the shut down sequence.

Slowing down. Still within the range.

_Slowing down._

My eyes dart to the simulation’s time sequence. God, please let it be there.

Holy Pi.

I stare at the data pattern unfolding in front of me. It’s the very familiar pattern of a time loop’s starting sequence. My voice is shaky. “Computer. Set _Voyager’s_ time as main time.”

“Professor?” Ensign Miller shoots me a puzzled glance.

“Another time loop.” Inhaling a shattering breath, I fix the people around me. “They’ve initiated another time loop. I have no idea how they do it. But I’m sure.”

“That is impossible. This is the shut down sequence. There is no way they can interfere with it,” Hayes replies.

“I don’t give ‘impossible’ a damn.” Hastening to the four consoles reserved for the manual hooks, I shoot Natalija, Alynna and Joseph a short look. “Alynna, Natalija, Joseph. I need your help to set up the hooks.” With a short nod, all three of them join me, Joseph squeezes my arm as he passes me.

“Professor, it would require a massive retardation within the simulation to retrieve them. Which is entirely improbable.” Admiral Hayes sounds impatient.

“Two damn minutes. They only need two more damn minutes.” I start preparing the initial sequence. Come on Kathryn, Chakotay. We need a time loop. “Computer what is the current countdown time in the simulation?” My fingers fly over the console.

_The remaining countdown time is 6 minutes and 34 seconds._

I stiffen. Someone mutters a quiet “Shit.”

My view briefly meets Alynna’s. Too little time for a manual hook. With my jaw clenched I continue working. We have to be faster; beat our own record.

 

 

_End of the simulation in five minutes …_

We work in grim silence.

 

_End of the simulation in four minutes …_

“Basic hooks are prepared, Margaret.” God, Joseph was fast. Biting my lip, I bypass the simulation’s first security level. Alynna and Natalija frantically type besides me.

I crack the first security level and take a deep breath. Wait for Natalija and Alynna to come up with the secondary hooks.

Lieutenant Evans voice sounds nervous. “Initiate hook for Lieutenant Torres and Commander Tuvok.”

_End of the simulation in three minutes …_

 

Alynna and Natalija almost punch their console simultaneously. Alynna yells. “Secondary hooks done.”

“Confirmed. I take over,” I say. Darn. I can’t bypass the second security level. The code is changing like the colors of a chameleon, resisting any of my attempts to hack it. My fingers start trembling.

A warm hand on my shoulder. Joseph. “I’m here Margaret.” I become a little calmer.

_Hook on crewmember 9421 and 9422 established._

_Crewmember 9421 and 9422 extracted._

Rerouting. That could work! Like sand on a beach, the source code slowly gives away and allows the secondary hooks merge into it, dragging the basic hook with them.

_End of the simulation in two minutes …_

 

An alarm klaxon howls. THE alarm klaxon. Gasps around me.

I grin fiercely. The simulation is outside the range. Kathryn. They’ve done it. Good girl. Go on. Give me your best time loop ever.

Joseph inhales sharply beside me. “How much deceleration?”

Ensign Miller hesitates. “Times slowed down by 25%.”

My heart starts pounding hard against my throat and I’ve troubles concentrating. All hooks finally break through the second security level. “I’m in! Screening for Kathryn’s pattern”

“Confirmed. Screening for Chakotay’s pattern.” Alynna’s breath is ragged like mine.

“Darn! Can’t find her,” I curse.

“Down to 50% of initial speed,” Miller announces.

_End of the simulation in one minute …_

 

“Down 100%” Ensign Miller states.

Joseph’s hand grips hard in my shoulder; the simulation needs still to slow down stronger.

“Found Chakotay. Initialising hook procedure.” Alynna’s voice is pressed.

_End of the simulation in thirty seconds …_

 

“Speed down 350%”

There it is. Kathryn. “Found her! Initializing hook procedure.” Pushing the button to confirm the initialization, I finally step away breathlessly from the keyboard.

Oh my god. We could make it. _They_ could make it, if the time loop’s beginning is strong enough. If it slows down enough.

The whole control room is embedded in ghostly silence, no one dares to speak. Only Ensign Miller’s trembling voice and the computer’s merciless countdown cuts through it. We all stare on _Voyager_ ’s time displayed on the monitors, their few remaining seconds slowly dragging on in our time.

“Simulation speed reduced by 500%”

_End of the simulation in ten seconds …_

_Nine …_

_Eight …_

Joseph draws me nearer to him.

_Seven …_

“Down 750%”

_Six …_

_Five …_

_Four …_

“Down 900%”

 

_Three …_

 

“It’s too short,” someone whispers.

_Two …_

_Hook on crewmember 9423 and 9424 established._

I stop breathing. So does everyone else. The display showing _Voyager_ ’s time agonizing slowly turns the next number.

 

_One …_

_Crewmember 9423 and 9424 extracted._

_Simulation terminated._

 

Absolute silence.

 _Voyager_ ’s time on zero; everyone staring at the display.

Then Alynna’s shaky voice. “We’ve done it.”

A whole room suddenly erupting into wadded cheers. The zero on the display blurs. It’s so hot in here. So hot. The collar is too tight. Air.

I need fresh air.

My fingers, strangely numb, fumble on my collar. Air.

“Margaret!” Two hands grip my shoulders, a familiar face in front of me. Joseph. Too hot. His features become blurry too.

“Look at me Margaret.” He shakes me. “Breathe!”

Breathing?

Breathing! Cool air floods my lungs, hurts, burns.

“That’s good, Margaret. You are doing fine. Breathe with me.”

Wrapping my fingers on his underarms, I clutch tightly to him, concentrate on his rhythmic breathing like on a life line. Breathe.

“We did it,” I finally whisper within breaths, our arms still locked.

“You did it.”

“And they are alive.”

“Yes they are alive.”

“I did it.” Reality trickles slowly into me. I calm down.

He chuckles and kisses my forehand. “Yes. You did it. You pulled them out. All of them.” Palming my face he looks at me, his eyes misty. “ _All_ of them.”

I swallow. “All of them.”

All of them.

Kathryn is alive.

It’s like I’ve touched a sunrise, the life around and within me wakening up, blazing through every fiber of my very being, filling me with a strength I’ve never experienced in my life.

My life.

Slowly lifting my hand, I touch Joseph’s neck, slide my fingers into his hair, pull him gently down. Our lips touch softly, merge into a loving kiss. I don’t care who is watching. If someone is watching at all. I don’t care anything. Except for him. And Kathryn’s being alive.

While the cheering and activity swirls around us, we remain in the sheltered world of our embrace. I lay my head on his chest, he gently strokes my back. “It will be hard for Kathryn and Chakotay when they wake up.”

He places a kiss on my head and tightens his embrace. “We will be there for them, Margaret. Together.”

“Yes we will.”

Wherever the journey leads.

 

End of Part 1

TBC in UN.real.ITY Part 2


	11. BONUS MATERIAL: Fiddles from Malezita for UN.real.ITY

Wonder how Gretchen looks like in my imagination? Or Joseph? And Phoebe?

 

 **Malezita** provided me with many AMAZING fiddles for inspiration!

 

We thought a lot about how to share them with you all and finally decided to post them as an own chapter at the end of this story. Here they are :D

 

 

 


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